Interviewing Casanova
by angelically-devilish
Summary: SiriusHermioneRemus - "The first thing I think you should know is that I love sex." There was a smug arrogance to his tone, but she showed no emotion, informing him that she would not fall for his shock tactics. She knew him entirely too well for that.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: ***takes deep breath* Okay...so...I know I haven't updated _Playing the Players_ in a VERY long time, so I fully expect some people to be like "What the hell is she starting a new long fic for?!" (that is, of course, assuming you care enough to be frustrated by my abysmally lacking updates) but if all you loyal fans remember when I first started _PtP_, I was ALSO finishing up _The Wolf and Little Red_, so it IS possible for me to work on two at a time - providing I remember to update.

ANYWAY - this idea came about...well, I'm not entirely sure how it came about, but it did, so here it is!

I want to dedicate this story to **Papplelifesaver** and **diamond-helen**, both of whom celebrated a birthday in February that I was unable to actually finish birthday fics for. So I'm going to be a bit of a slag and dedicate one long fic to both of them, because they have been so incredibly supportive of my and my work. *bows low* Thank you, ladies. You remind me constantly why I enjoy writing fanfic.

And as always, THANK YOU, AMY! I love and miss you terribly!

* * *

**Interview****ing Casanova**

_Chapter One – The First Session_

"The first thing I think you should know is that I love sex."

There was a smug arrogance to his tone as Sirius Black, last heir to the powerful pureblood House of Black, sat with an air of casual aristocracy in the plush, albeit moth-eaten, chair in the Black family library. Across the lacquered antique coffee table, his interviewer looked up from her parchment, defiant hazel eyes meeting his challenging azure-grey. Hermione Granger, bestselling novelist and brainy third of the "Golden Trio," showed no emotion, informing the smirking playboy that she would not fall for any of his shock tactics.

She knew him entirely too well for that.

"I suppose it started when I lost my virginity. I was twelve at the time."

This admission _did_ make her squirm slightly. Consummate lover though he was rumoured to be – a fact that, in spite of vague whispers to the contrary, Hermione could not base on experience – losing one's virginity at the young age of twelve was hardly healthy.

Then again, she _was_ speaking with a man who could boast almost two _hundred_ conquests and still fall just short of the actual number.

"How did that come about, exactly?" she asked, quill at the ready.

A slow, self-satisfied smirk spread across his face.

"Would you like a detailed account, kitten?" he purred.

She rolled her eyes.

"You were twelve years old, Sirius. I hardly think you made her toes curl," she shot back.

He chuckled.

"True enough," he said. "Though, she _did_ allow me a few practice runs to…shall we say…_train_ me."

The tone of his voice sent a sick chill down her spine and she shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. After all, what type of woman, or even girl for that matter, would agree to be the sexual tutor to an underage boy?

"She was a whore," Sirius explained, seemingly reading her thoughts with a disconcerting accuracy. "My father demanded I know the ways of love from a young age. It was the only useful thing he ever did for me."

Hermione penned this small revelation, making note of the subtle physical changes Sirius had undergone while speaking. His eyes were darker at the mention of his father, his body tense and his jaw set.

'_Daddy issues,'_ Hermione wrote, underlining it so she would notice it later.

The whole experiment – and truly, the very idea to interview the man in front of her – had all started with a book review. A book review on _her_ book. Her _newest_ book. Her newest book in a long line of bestselling novels.

A book review that stated she seemed to be losing her touch.

It wasn't that the review was particularly critical. The reviewer had even gone out of her way to mention just how big a fan she was of Hermione's work, and actually spent most of the review highlighting all the positives of the newest book.

It was just that damn last paragraph.

'_While Miss Granger has shown exceptional depth to her plucky yet wise female characters, this reviewer can't help but wonder at the slightly worrying trend of one-dimensionality displayed in her heroes. It's true that every woman loves a hero, but is that hero worth loving if there's nothing to them after the flush of initial passion has ebbed? This reviewer eagerly awaits Miss Granger's next work, hoping that she extends her depth of character to the men in her stories, to put to rest those unsettling rumours that the brilliant bookworm has lost her touch.'_

"There'll be rumours _now_, you silly cow!" Ginny had all but barked at the _Daily Prophet_ the day the review had come out. Harry, Ron, and Remus had also added some colourful language to the discussion, but the flippant comment had effected the Muggleborn nonetheless.

It had therefore not taken long for the young witch to decide to write her next book almost completely from the male perspective.

Sirius Black had, of course, been the perfect candidate. Knowing that she couldn't write about Harry or Ron for reasons of personal integrity – and writing about Remus, while fascinating, would be a little too difficult considering his monthly "issue" – it had been an almost natural decision for Hermione to choose Sirius.

He seemed to be the epitome of carefree masculinity. Attractive, wealthy, intelligent, charming and sophisticated, Hermione quickly became almost obsessive in her research. It wasn't until Remus had cornered her in the library to ask why his girlfriend was spending her time all but stalking his best friend that she finally admitted what she was actually doing. Remus – content that his relationship was in no real peril – had then gently suggested that simply talking to the animagus might be better research than watching his every move.

If only to put to bed the inevitable whispers that the exclusive attention would inspire.

It had taken almost a week for Hermione, strong, independent woman though she was, to approach Sirius with the request. She had only just gotten used to the smirks and innuendo that he had taken to using once everyone had found out that the bestselling author 'H.J. Granger' was actually _their_ H.J. Granger. Since then, Sirius had taken to sharing particularly lascivious stories whenever he was in her presence, each one designed to make her blush.

Of course, as the lover of a werewolf and purveyor of smutty fiction, his attempts had – thus far – been for naught. The fact that she was _asking_ him to regale her with sordid tales of his misspent youth, however, was hardly helping their already tenuously-tolerant relationship.

"Did you enjoy your first sexual experiences?" Hermione asked with an almost clinical, Kinseyan sense of propriety. She briefly wondered how the controversial American scientist had been able to conduct his research, especially when some of his subjects had been friends.

She definitely empathized with any discomfort he might have felt.

"I enjoyed them at first, before I came to the realization that I would enjoy it far more if the woman I was with enjoyed it too," he said. Then he leaned in, his eyes all but burning into her. "Have you ever had a man satisfy you so completely that your toes curl and your back arches and your entire body quivers so uncontrollably that you start to question whether the pleasure is real, or if you're just dreaming?"

Hermione couldn't help the shiver of desire that shot through her at his words, her mind wandering to the countless times Remus had made love to her close to the full moon, when the werewolf was at his most viral.

"That," he said, leaning back satisfactorily, "Is what I enjoy, Miss Granger."

Hermione swallowed hard and brought her eyes down to her parchment, her quill moving though the words she was writing were incoherent to her in her current state of mind. She just needed a distraction. A distraction from eyes and his seductive yet dangerous words.

"When do you think was the first time you realized you had a…er…_talent_ for…um…pleasing women?" she asked, a blush starting to creep up her neck as she felt his eyes analyze her.

Seemingly content with finally getting a reaction out of her, Sirius gave a small shrug.

"I don't think it was a moment of revelation. It was just little things. The way birds would look at me when I walked passed. A flirtatious glance from the friends of women I had slept with. I figured it out myself from there."

Hermione continued to write, taking down every word with a precision that years of education had drilled into her.

"It all starts with confidence, kitten," he said, using the nickname he had coined for her that he knew annoyed her. "If a man walks around as though he _knows_ he's a good shag, women just naturally gravitate to him. And since I've received no complaints thus far…"

He let the sentence hang, watching her for a reaction. She did nothing but write, her mind going once more to Remus. He didn't walk around with the swagger that personified Sirius but he seemed to have an understated confidence – as though he knew who he was and was as comfortable as he was ever going to get about it. Hermione begrudgingly admitted to herself that it had been one of the many things she had found attractive about her boyfriend.

"Of course, having an element of danger or mystery also helps," Sirius continued. "My theory is that women have to know everything, and a man of mystery will never bore them."

Hermione couldn't disagree with that observation either.

"Let's discuss your use of women as sport," she said, rapidly changing the direction of the subject to a place that wouldn't constantly remind her of the similarities between the two Marauders. "When did you start sleeping with women just for the sake of sleeping with them?"

Sirius arched an eyebrow.

"That's awfully judgmental, Miss Granger," he said.

She shrugged.

"I'm merely making an observation, Mr. Black," she replied, trying to keep her tone businesslike.

"It's hardly a sport," he said easily. "A sport implies competition. I have no competition."

"You're hardly unique in your handling of women, Sirius," Hermione scoffed. "You can't possibly be the only womanizer in London."

"Nobody else has anywhere near my success record," he replied simply.

"Oh? And why is that?"

He leaned forward, a Cheshire cat smile upon his handsome face.

"Kitten," he all but purred, "I'm Sirius Black."

It was then that Hermione finally admitted to herself the _real_ reason why she had picked Sirius over every other man in her life. True, he oozed masculinity and swagger, but truth be told, Charlie Weasley did so with less effort. And though Sirius was charming, _Bill_ Weasley could stop a girl's heart with a well-placed comment.

And when it came to mischief and playfulness, well, Fred and George had that market covered.

Even though Sirius did display _all_ of these qualities that she admired in the men in her life, Hermione knew the reasoning went further than his personality traits. After all, she didn't truly need a _complete_ playboy – it _was_ a 'happily-ever-after' romance, after all. If she had truly wanted to write a normal, fully three-dimensional male character, she could have observed her own boyfriend during his less canine moments – thus avoiding the risk of mockery and innuendo.

But she had chosen Sirius instead, and it had been at that moment when he leaned in, that smug, sexy grin making his abnormally-handsome face look years younger, that Hermione knew _exactly_ why. There was a confidence with which the words "I'm Sirius Black" had rolled so elegantly off his tongue that reminded her of the deep, dark, _dangerous_ secret that had her sitting on the moth-eaten couch in the library.

He had _experience_.

And that was Hermione Granger's dirty little secret that she couldn't share for fear of losing the respect and reputation she had worked so hard to gain. It wasn't a latent attraction, like the rumours implied, or even the quiet fantasy that most females within a mile of the attractive pureblood carried. It was his experience – his stories – that she needed.

He was her muse.

Odd as it sounded, Hermione had never actually been sexually attracted to Sirius. True, he was conventionally attractive – stunning, even, for a man of his age – but the attraction she had for him had always been for his stories. She hadn't realized it until he had started speaking candidly in her presence, but suddenly she was inspired by him. And considering she had all but exhausted her own, hardly-sufficient sexual past, she was starting to become more and more voracious in her curiosity about his hedonistic pleasures.

Hermione had had all of three lovers in her life. The first – a puppy love romance with Ron – had been awkward and uncomfortable the first time and fairly monotonous after the initial rush of experimentation had ebbed; Ron was fairly narrow-minded in terms of sexual proclivity. The second – a drunken mistake with Draco Malfoy – had barely been remembered but what she did remember she remembered with a mild amount of embarrassment.

Remus had been her third – and the only one who could ever satisfy her so completely.

As a romance writer, however, there was only so much that Hermione could write about, and while Remus was more than willing to try new things with her – for the sake of research, of course – there were still certain limitations that came between them, not the least of which was Hermione's hesitation to verbalize her needs, and Remus's quiet, consistent insistence on remaining honourable with his intentions towards her.

Suffice it to say, Sirius's tales of his pleasure-seeking past were glorious nuggets of information that she stored away for future reference. Prude though she was not, she couldn't even begin to fathom the treasure trove of helpful information that Sirius had the potential to unveil.

He was her ultimate research guide.

"So why me, kitten?" Sirius asked, his eyes still maddeningly focused on her as he once again seemed to read her thoughts. "From the plethora of men in your life, why did I warrant the attention?"

The lilt in his voice told her he was teasing, but she knew better than to take it just at that level. Sirius was clever – she would even go so far as to say 'shrewd' – and the penetrating quality of his silver gaze told her to tread carefully.

"You're a fascinating subject," she said simply. "You live the life of a reincarnated Giocomo Casanova and I'm writing my next book from the perspective of a reforming playboy."

Sirius shook his head with a grin.

"There's no such thing, kitten. Playboys don't reform. They're playboys for a reason."

"So why are _you_ a playboy?" she asked.

His easy smile never faded.

"You can't simply pierce through all of my layers at once, Miss Granger. I'm an onion, meant to be peeled one layer at a time."

Hermione couldn't help her arched eyebrow.

"You're not exactly hard to figure out. You're charming, wealthy, not without cranial function and you don't exactly repulse women. I'm sure the pickings are far from slim."

"Always nice to know I can count on you for a good ego stroke, kitten," he deadpanned.

"I'm not here to stroke anything of yours, Sirius, ego or otherwise."

She could see the look of shock in his eyes at her rather bold comment, and she gave herself a mental pat on the back before pressing on.

"So are you going to answer my question?" she asked expectantly.

"And what question is that, love?" he replied, that same, easy smile upon his face.

"What drove the great Sirius Black to a life of debauchery?" she repeated. "Was it just something you fell into and you realized you enjoyed it? Or was there some deeper reason? Pride, perhaps? Fear of a latent homosexual urge?"

She had been teasing, but a look of deep pain passed over his eyes for the briefest of seconds before he looked away.

"There was a girl," he finally said. "Just after Hogwarts. She was a friend of the family so of course I didn't think much of her. But she joined resistance and it wasn't long before I realized…"

He paused, then looked at Hermione with a smile that she supposed was meant to be charming but the light in it didn't reach his eyes.

"It didn't work out," he said simply. "Anyway, I ended up in Azkaban just two years after graduation, so I suppose the reason why I do what I do is because I'm just making up for lost time."

She looked at him for a long moment before writing two words on her parchment that she never thought she would ever associate with Sirius:

'_Lost Love.'_

"I think that's it for me now, kitten. It's almost time for me to go and meet this heavenly creature that I was introduced to last night."

It was an abrupt ending, and he didn't give her much room for discussion as he stood and walked confidently out of the room. Only a seasoned observer of human behaviour – which Hermione was – could see the slight slump in his shoulders and the calculation in his movements that informed her that there was more to him than met the untrained eye.

And Hermione knew then that she had her story.

* * *

_I know it's not my usual fare - it's not nearly as snarky as I usually write. But I'd be interested in hearing your feedback! Please let me know!_

_~Meg~  
_

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **For those of you who don't follow me on Twitter: I have braved my insecurities (and my mother's voice) and auditioned for the American musical television show "Glee". I promised my Twitter followers that for every 100 "gold stars" my audition video gets, I would update one of my 2 WIPs. They got me 100 stars in 3 hours.

This update was the least I could do. :-)

For those of you interested in seeing my audition video (and I don't blame you if you're not at all interested), take a look at my Twitter page (the link is on my profile) or take a look at the link on my profile that says "Glee Audition". If you think it's worthy, vote! You can vote as many times as you want, and all you need is a MySpace page.

To all my reviewers: Thanks for the continuous support! Real life is crazy, but you guys make updating so much easier!

AMY - I love you. You're awesome.

* * *

**Chapter Two**** – A Brush with the Past**

"Who was Sirius dating when you all first left Hogwarts?"

"Pardon?"

"After Hogwarts. When you were first inducted into the Order? Who was Sirius dating?"

"And by dating, you mean…?"

"I'm not speaking a foreign language, Remus. By dating I mean _dating_."

"Yes, darling, but you're attaching Sirius to that word so I can't help being slightly confused."

Hermione sighed and looked back at the page of notes in her lap. She and Remus had decided to turn in early that night, as most of the house had decided to go out for one reason or another. They had been sitting quietly in bed, Hermione going over her interview notes and Remus reading a report one of his underlings in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had written regarding the vampire population, when Hermione was reminded of the _lost love_ that was written in her notes and decided to investigate further.

"Sirius wasn't born a playboy, Remus. I'm just trying to get to the bottom of why he does what he does."

"Well, what does he say?"

"He said there was a girl."

Remus glanced at her with an amused arched eyebrow.

"I think he's having a go at you, love. Sirius has never been _serious_ about a girl in his life."

Hermione gave him a look that told him she wasn't amused by his pun, and he gave a chuckle.

"I think you should ask yourself who Sirius _didn't_ date. He had gone through half the Order by Christmas."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, thinking.

"Was there anyone that he was close to – friends, that is – other than the three of you?"

Remus shrugged.

"By the end of our first year in the Order, we had lost so many people and gained so many people that James and I stopped paying attention to Sirius's behaviour and concentrated on our own lives."

"But surely you would have noticed if someone had caught Sirius's eye exclusively. I mean, you all were thick as thieves," Hermione pressed.

Remus, who hadn't been paying too much attention to the conversation, seemed to acknowledge that her curiosity would not be abated by a flippant line or two. With a deep, long-suffering sigh, he put the report on the nightstand before wrapping a long arm around her and drawing her close to him.

"Alright, my love, let me think," he said slightly-patronizingly, looking out into space with purpose. "After Lily and James married, Lily insisted on having a weekly Marauder dinner. We were all invited, as well as the women we were dating at the time. That would have been the only opportunity for us to meet anyone that Sirius was "dating" but…" His brow furrowed. "I don't think he ever brought the same person more than once."

"Never? C'mon, Remus, _think_," she said, turning on her side to watch him intently.

He sighed.

"James and Lily were the only real "couple" in our group, love. I only dated one person during the first war and she…" He trailed off and to Hermione's surprise, she saw the same deep pain in Remus's eyes that Sirius had had earlier.

"She what, Remus?" she asked softly.

As if waking from a reverie, he jolted slightly and turned to her with a small smile.

"She died. She was killed the same summer as James and Lily." Then he sighed. "But in terms of the Marauders, James and Lily were the only stable couple. Sirius, Peter and I usually went stag, but when Marlene and I were together, Sirius took to bringing random girls who he barely acknowledged the entire time. I think he just didn't want to look as desperate as Peter."

Hermione's ears pricked up.

"Marlene? Marlene McKinnon?"

Remus frowned.

"Now how do you know that name?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes.

"Remus, darling, you can't possibly think that I didn't do any research on the Order while I was living here that summer before fifth year, did you?"

He chuckled, shaking his head.

"I suppose I should have known better. But yes, love, Marlene McKinnon."

Hermione's mind was whirring.

"The McKinnons were purebloods, weren't they?"

Remus shrugged.

"I'm not sure. Blood purity wasn't high on the list of conversational topics between us."

"I'm sure they were. Which would mean that they would have been in the Blacks' social circle before the war…"

She trailed off, lost in the admittedly-problematic direction her brain was going. It made a certain amount of sense. The one girl Sirius wanted was – at the time – the only girl his best friend had ever really had feelings for. And with her death, any hope of happiness would have died with her. Especially since he was chucked in Azkaban so soon after.

How the thought of her death must have festered…

"Ouch!"

A sharp jab in her side woke her up to a pair of amused amber eyes, an eyebrow raised in expectation.

"You stopped mid-sentence. What do the McKinnons have to do with the Blacks' social circle?"

She rubbed her side with a pout.

"I was just thinking of something Sirius said this afternoon, that's all."

He sighed, glancing at the papers in her lap.

"You know, a lesser man would get suspicious of his girlfriend's sudden interest in his best friend's love life," he warned.

She smiled slightly, leaning over and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Well, we know you're a better man."

She saw him smile and she lay back against the pillows with a small huff of air.

"It's just…this is starting to get a little more complicated and I need confirmation on some details in order to flesh it out. It's always the small details that are particularly important in my books and this one is going to keep me up all night," she declared.

Remus smirked.

"Well," he whispered, sliding down along her body so his lips were right next to her ear, placing soft kisses on the shell and nuzzling her neck when she shivered. "If you're gonna be up all night, I suppose we must find something to keep you occupied."

She let her eyes flutter closed, the parchment on her lap falling noiselessly to the floor as Remus shifted himself over her body. She let her head fall back as his lips journeyed to her neck.

"Hmm…and what do you have in mind, Mr. Lupin?" she asked, feeling her body react to him as his hands caressed down her curves.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something…"

He kissed her deeply and rolled onto his back, bringing her with him and causing her to squeal. With a deep chuckle, he reached over to the side table and with a flick of his wand, the lights went out.

* * *

Unbeknownst to the two lovers, a dark figure sat in the corner of the room next door, cigarette to his lips as he listened to the breathless moans of the blissful couple. His eyes were bloodshot – a result of drink and tears. A naked body lay sleeping in the bed, but he paid her no mind.

The sound of Hermione's quiet cry of ecstasy made him shudder with longing, the ash of the cigarette dangling precariously from the burning tip. He closed his eyes, imagining his hands caressing the brilliant bookworm's curves, his palms sliding along her soft alabaster skin. He ignored his best friend's groan, replacing the werewolf in his mind with images of his own body moving against hers, his cock pulsing within her needful body.

The sound of rustling broke him from his fantasy, turning his attention to the stirring body in his bed. He wracked his brain to remember her name. Something ending with an 'i'. It was always something like that, like 'Candi' or 'Tiffani' or 'Staci'.

"Siri?" the saccharine voice said drowsily when she noticed she was in the bed by herself.

"Over here, love," he said from his corner, extinguishing his cigarette before standing and stretching his long, lithe body.

"What are you doing all the way over there, silly?" she teased, her soft brown eyes reflecting the moonlight.

"Couldn't sleep," he replied non-committedly. It was true, but not anything new. Insomnia was the unfortunate by-product of twelve years in Azkaban and an additional five in the dark recesses of the Veil.

"Well, come back to bed. I'm sure we can find a way to tire you out," she said coquettishly, flipping her long, blonde curls over her shoulder and batting her eyelashes.

Sirius returned to the bed, wordlessly slipping in next to her and laying on his back, gazing at the ceiling as he tucked an arm beneath his head.

"Were you thinking about Azkaban?" she asked, propping her head up on her elbow.

He looked at her sharply.

"Why do you think that?" he asked, almost holding his breath in a hop that he dared not entertain.

She opened her mouth as if to say something – and from the sudden spark in her eyes, Sirius was certain she was going to say something intellectual and profound – but in an instant she closed it again. She surveyed him closely before breaking eye contact and shrugging, her manicured nails making tiny circles along his torso.

"Just seems like the kind of thing that would keep you up at night, is all," was all she said.

He frowned.

"That wasn't what you were going to say, was it?"

She looked up at him, surprised that he had found her out.

"I…well…" She took a deep breath. "I suppose it's hard for me to fathom the darkness that you must have to deal with. The psychological ramifications of being around Dementors are still unknown, but not only that, you were in a state of literal nothingness for five years…I just…I'm amazed you aren't mental."

"Who says I'm not?" Sirius mumbled bitterly, more to himself than to her.

She looked at him for a moment longer before heaving a sigh, sitting up.

"I should probably go," she said.

He looked up at her, taking in the pale skin, the halo of blonde curls, the soft brown eyes – so familiar and yet impossibly so. Beauty and brains. They went together so rarely – especially amongst the women that frequented his sheets – that he felt more than a little refreshed by it.

"You don't have to," he said softly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get broody."

She chuckled, her hand caressing his cheek.

"Sirius, do you honestly think I hadn't heard about you before I met you last night? You're just a bit vulnerable right now. If I stayed, it would just make the morning all the more awkward."

Before he could speak, she slid off the bed and started getting dressed. He watched her, realizing for the first time that she sincerely was different from the women he brought home. She played dumber than she actually was – a feminine trait that Sirius still didn't understand – but there was a classiness about her that he wasn't used to having around him.

Not in the girls he actually slept with.

The ones he _didn't_ sleep with were a different story altogether.

"So," she said, straightening the skirt of her simple yet understatedly sensual grey jersey dress. "I suppose this is good-bye."

He took a deep breath.

"I'd like to see you again," he said.

She gave a soft smile.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"It wouldn't be for sex," he clarified. "We could meet up for coffee. To talk."

She gave a little chuckle and dug into her clutch, materializing with a tiny notebook and quill. She wrote something and tore it off the pad, handing it to him.

"I live in Nottingham," she said. "I don't expect you to make a trip all the way up there from London, but if you decide to…" She nodded to the paper and he looked at it, seeing a neatly-written address.

"I might just floo up when you least expect it," he said with a smile.

She laughed.

"I'm a busy woman, Sirius. Write first, yeah?"

He smiled slightly.

"You can bet on it."

She nodded and put the notebook and quill back in her clutch before turning to the mirror to do a final primp. Sirius watched with a slight smile, wondering when the last time a woman had left willingly – especially when he wasn't quite ready for them to go yet.

It had definitely been awhile.

"Alright, Siri," she said, turning to him with a flirtatious wink. "It's been fun."

"Yeah, it has," he said sincerely.

As she turned to leave, he realized that he had never truly remembered her name.

"Oh…um…" he started, trying to figure out an easy way to ask, but she interrupted him with another slight chuckle.

"Amanda," she said. "Mandy, for short. Mandy McKinnon."

Before he could say anything, she walked out of the room. He could hear her heels treading carefully down the stairs and the front door close. He heard the click of those heels – those sexy, fuck-me pumps he had admired through most of small talk they had attempted before abandoning pretence and coming back to the house – on the cobblestones outside before the silence of the night overwhelmed him once more.

Mandy McKinnon.

He tucked the piece of paper away carefully, making a mental note to revisit it when his head had stopped spinning. He hadn't expected the familiarity to materialize into a factual reality. Nor had he expected it when he was still trying to come to terms with his feelings for a similarly brilliant witch.

He lay back, grabbing the pack of cigarettes from the side of the bed and lighting another one.

It didn't matter anyway. She had left. They all left. All the ones worth keeping, anyway. Exhaling a long, thin wisp of smoke, he closed his eyes and counted to ten.

'_Bury the past, Sirius,'_ his inner voice said. _'You've had a brush with it but don't let it get to you. Not again.'_

"Easier said than done," he replied aloud, before crushing the partially-smoked cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table and turning to his side, determined to wake up from the sweet dream – or was it a beautiful nightmare? – of Mandy McKinnon and Hermione Granger.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it!_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Not a lot to say, really. I've been busy, as most of you know. Here's a new chapter, and a new one for PtP (Playing the Players) is currently in the works.

AMY - Thank you. You are the most tolerant, wonderful individual on the face of this planet. :-)

And your cat is absolutely adorable. :-D

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**Chapter Three – Session Two**

"You've had a busy week," Hermione said as she faced Sirius once more, her quill poised to take notes.

"It's been a particularly busy one, I suppose," he replied, lounging with his usual pose of casual arrogance that seemed to emanate from him naturally.

"You've been avoiding me," she stated, watching him closely for signs of guilt.

Instead, he shot her a smirk.

"Miss me, did you?"

"Not nearly as much as you'd like to think I did," she replied smartly, quietly praising herself on the glimmer of a falter in his smile.

"Well, you and Remus have been busy too. The way you two go around, I'm starting to worry that there'll be the pitter-pattering of tiny paws sooner rather than later."

Hermione lifted her chin defiantly while desperately suppressing her blush.

"In the event that that becomes an option, Sirius, you can bet their _paws_ will not be scuffing up _your_ floors."

A shadow of pain passed over his face but it was too quick for her to analyze. She figured it was the idea of losing his last remaining best friend to the constraints of family – though little did he know that the idea of a family was, thus far, not even a thought.

"We're not here to talk about me, Sirius," Hermione continued. "We're here to talk about you."

He cocked his head to the side.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look and sound like a psychiatrist when you're trying to be clinical?" he asked.

"You're deflecting," she said.

"You haven't asked me a question yet, darling, so how exactly am I deflecting?"

"I posed a theory."

"Remind me again what that theory was?"

"You were avoiding me this week."

"Why do you think that?"

Hermione took a deep breath.

"Sirius," she said patiently. "It's a yes or no question. Have you been avoiding me?"

"Do you think I have?"

He was toying with her. She could see it in his face. She sighed. She had hoped to inch tactfully into the subject of Marlene, but he was making it very difficult so she decided to jump right in.

"I think you were avoiding me because you know me well enough to know that I did my research and you were worried I was going to ask about Marlene."

She saw him blanche. He was quick to conceal it, but not quick enough. She saw it in his face as plain as day for that one second.

"Tell me I'm wrong," she challenged, keeping her eyes level.

She watched him carefully, taking in every movement. The side of his lip twitched; there was a slight shake to his hand; his eyes darkened.

"Don't dig into things you don't understand, Hermione," he warned darkly.

"I'm not a child, Sirius, as much as you think I am," she replied calmly. "But you're right. I don't understand. I don't understand how you could have such strong feelings about your best friend's girlfriend and hide them so well that Remus had no idea. Not even an inkling, really. I don't understand it and I'm not in the habit of conducting interviews about things I don't understand. Regardless, I think my point that I'm not to be toyed or trifled with has been made. Don't fuck around with me, because I _know_."

He leaned forward.

"You don't know anything," he said darkly.

"Don't I?" she replied. "You had a thing for your best friend's girl. That's fine – it was bound to happen, considering your voracious appetite for women. My job is to delve into why that _particular_ woman had you in such a state that you became the lecherous old man you are today."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Old?"

She smirked.

"Touched a nerve, did I?"

He surveyed her for a moment before tilting his head slightly, leaning back again.

"I never thought you had it in you, kitten," he said. "But you do. A manipulative streak. If possible, I think it's made you more attractive."

"Did Marlene have a manipulative streak?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"I suppose she did. We all did, in those days. Some of us still do. But that's not why I found her attractive."

"Oh?"

"No," he replied, his smile taking on an almost predatory look as his eyes glowed with a dark desire that sent a small current of fear through her.

"Than what?" she asked bravely.

He surveyed her before his smirk broadened.

"It was the fact that I couldn't have her," he said softly. "The fact that I could never possess her. I'm not going to lie and say that that's not a reason why I find _you_ so…fascinating."

She tried not to buckle under his heady stare, deciding instead to look back at her quickly-filling parchment to collect herself.

"So you're fascinated by women who have a manipulative streak," she stated.

She could almost hear the victorious chuckle he gave under his breath.

"Yes," he said. "And yours is starting to show in spades."

"I shall tell Remus you think so," she said, still refusing to meet his gaze. "He's not fond of my manipulative tendencies."

Sirius scoffed.

"No, he wouldn't be," he said, an almost bitter tone to his voice. "If there's one thing Remus is, it's that he's too fucking noble for his own damn good. It's one of his few weaknesses, I think. He's just too…trusting."

Hermione didn't miss the double entendre to his tone, the words sliding like poison through her brain. It wasn't like she hadn't said similar words to her mild-mannered boyfriend, but he had always chuckled, saying that there was enough mistrust in the world that he didn't need to contribute any more. She had always thought that idealism an endearing quality before.

She wasn't so sure now.

"Tell me why you love sex so much," Hermione asked, looking back at him as she moved the subject to the original intent and thinking it slightly more safe than the subject of her relationship.

Sirius shrugged.

"It feels good."

"So do drugs."

"Drugs can kill you."

"So can sex."

"I take precautions."

"Really? With Muggle women too?"

"I don't sleep with many Muggle women. Too many questions."

"So what stopped you from adopting a drug addiction rather than a sexual one?" she pressed. "I mean, why sex and not drugs?"

"I think the illegality of it was a factor," he said.

She gave him a level look, knowing it was a bullshit answer.

He sighed.

"Maybe it's a control thing," he said. "I don't think I would do well without control."

"But you drink," she said. "Copiously, sometimes. There's no control there."

"There's always control," he replied. "If I'm drinking, I know how much to drink before I lose control. And if I want to drink that much, I control the location in which I'm drinking so that it affects the least amount of people. You can control up to a point with drugs. But mostly, drugs control you."

"So you like sex because you like the control?" she asked.

"You're twisting my words."

"No I'm not. I'm hypothesizing based on the information you're providing and then asking clarifying questions."

He scoffed.

"Manipulation dressed up as professionalism."

"Does that bother you?"

"A little, yes."

She surveyed him and then wrote another two words, underlining them:

'_Control issues.'_

"What did you write?" he demanded.

"Why?" she countered.

"I want to know."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"What are you, four?"

She sighed, and handed him the parchment. He scanned it, then glared at her.

"I do not have control issues."

"Don't you?"

"No."

"You've been trying to control this entire conversation since the moment we sat down. You don't like drugs because you can't control yourself. You only drink in situations that you can control. I'd wager you like to be in control in the bedroom too," she ventured, keeping her tone steady as the vision of Sirius's dominating bedroom manner sent a thrill of excitement through her.

That slow, easy smile appeared once more.

"Not necessarily, kitten."

She leaned in, emboldened by her next thought.

"I bet you do. Because I'll bet that even when a woman takes control of a situation, somewhere deep inside you're telling yourself she's only doing it because _you let her_."

He reeled back visibly, and seemed so stunned by the accusation that Hermione briefly wondered whether she had unintentionally stumbled upon a revelation that even the great Sirius Black hadn't realized about himself. It wasn't until his face changed – a harsh, icy exterior appearing – that she knew she had hit dangerous territory.

"Very observant, Miss Granger," he purred in a tone that had her shaking slightly in an odd combination of desire and fear. "Though, I find it amazing that a woman as smart as you would draw such a dangerous conclusion and yet stay in the same room by yourself with a man like me."

"You don't scare me, Sirius," she said bravely, though her voice revealed the tremor she was trying to hide.

He chuckled darkly.

"Then you're not as clever as I thought, kitten."

"You know as well as I do that I could hex you into next week if you tried something."

"With what wand?" he asked, and to her horror she saw him pull out her wand and twirl it in his tattooed hands.

"You wouldn't try anything," she said, though she was becoming less and less confident the more he looked at her. "Remus would kill you."

"True," he mused, eyes glimmering. "But who's to say you wouldn't enjoy it?"

"Stop it, Sirius," she said, her voice officially breaking.

He chuckled again and tossed her the wand.

"I think I've figured out the purpose of these little sessions, kitten. I fascinate you but only because I can open sexual doorways that you've never experienced before. I possess the ability to provide the details of carnal pleasures you and Remus would never think to attempt." He surveyed her once more before standing with a sigh, his eyes slowly travelling up and down her body.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he challenged, repeating her earlier words with a gleam of malice and hunger in his eyes.

She didn't respond. She didn't even breathe. And for a full minute, they stared at each other, seeing the other in a new light.

"Shame, really," he finally said, more to himself than to her as his eyes finally left hers. "One always learns better from experience."

With a smirk he walked out of the room and Hermione let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The session had been a warning – a warning that she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to heed.

'_Stay away,'_ her logic pleaded. _'You've got what you needed. Just get out while you can.'_

It would be foolish to continue – this she knew. But as she put her quill away with a shaky hand, for the first time in her life, Hermione wondered what it would be like to disregard her logic and surrender to the deep, pulsing, _dangerous_ curiosity her soul screamed for her to address.

On the other side of the door, Sirius leaned against the fading wood, inhaling deep breaths of oxygen as he willed the blood to flow to any other part of his body but his lower half.

"Please, Hermione," he begged under his breath. "Please, for both of us. Stay away."

Pushing away from the library, the shocking, crippling, ever-present realization that he didn't really _want_ her to stay away hit him.

And it scared the shit out of him.

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_Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it!_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Okay, guys, go easy on me with this one. My beta's sick so I haven't gotten quite the amount of feedback I wanted. But it's an update, so hopefully there shouldn't be too many complaints.

Also - the next chapter of PtP is written. It just needs to be typed. :-D Hopefully soon.

Thanks!

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**Chapter Four – Trouble in Paradise**

"What are you thinking about?" Remus asked, bringing Hermione's attention from her barely-touched salmon to him.

She blinked.

"What?"

He sighed.

"We've been sitting here for an hour and you've barely said three words to me. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied, spearing her asparagus with renewed energy.

"Don't do that," Remus said softly. "These past two weeks you've been pulling away from me and…Hermione, I'd…I'd like you to stop working with Sirius."

She looked up sharply.

"Excuse me?"

He sighed again, pushing his potatoes around his plate.

"I…I've seen the looks he gives you. I've seen how you watch him when you think no one else notices. I'm a tolerant guy, love, but…if you don't want to be with me anymore…that is…if you would rather be with Sirius…"

"Don't be stupid," she snapped. "Why on earth would I want to be with Sirius?"

He looked up at her, his amber eyes soft with vulnerability.

"I love you. Have for years. And I know you. And I know him. And…" He trailed off, looking back at his plate.

It had been a week since her last session with Sirius. She had kept her distance from him since, trying to come to terms with the maelstrom of emotions in her brain. She decided that working on her book would take her mind away from those feelings, but every word she wrote of her character schemes and outlines had pushed her further and further into her growing obsession with the attractive pureblood.

Her eyes followed him constantly. She had thought no one had noticed.

It was silly, really, now that she thought about it, to assume that Remus wouldn't work it out. He had come into her office earlier that day, surprising her as she was working on the outline for her new chapter. He had been smiling, inviting her out to dinner. She had been hesitant, and the sparkle had faltered in his eyes.

She hadn't understood why until now.

"Remus…you know I love you. Christ, we've been together for four years! Of _course_ I love you!"

"Do you love me enough to marry me?"

She blinked, speechless, and he smiled slightly as he pulled something out of his jacket pocket.

"It's not much," he admitted, looking at the small black velvet box in his hand before pushing it over to her. "You deserve so much more, of course. But…it was my mother's and…well…I've been carrying it around for awhile…"

Hermione picked the box up with a trembling hand. She was almost afraid to look in it. She had wanted this moment for so long – at least, she had _thought_ she had. Opening it, she let out the breath she had been holding when she saw a small diamond ring nestled in a bed of satin.

"I want to be your husband," Remus said, looking at her intently. "Would you…rather, _could_ you…do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

She looked up at him, eyes wide.

"I know this is probably not the most ideal way to approach the subject," he added. "But…it's just that you used to talk about marriage, and children. I had been so hesitant…then you stopped talking about it altogether. I thought maybe…maybe you had given up hope that I would propose…or maybe your interest waned…"

"No, that's not it, Remus," she said softly, taking the ring out of the box and looking at it. "I _do_ love you. And Lord knows I wanted a marriage and children…and I couldn't imagine being with anyone but you…but…"

She saw him tense, and so she pressed on quickly.

"I _will_ marry you, Remus Lupin," she said, putting the ring on her finger. "But not until I've finished my book. And I'm not going to stop interviewing Sirius. You're just going to have to trust me."

"I _do_ trust you," he said, seemingly-mollified by her acceptance. "It's _him_ I don't trust."

She forced a laugh.

"Honestly, darling, it's not like he's angling for me," she lied. "And I'm not so easily seduced." She could feel the bile rise in her throat at her deception, and she swallowed hard before affecting a seductive smirk. "Except, perhaps, by you."

He gave a soft smile, his hand reaching over to clasp hers.

"So that's a 'yes,' is it?"

She chuckled, leaning across the table and placing a kiss on his nose.

"Yes," she said before kissing him deeply. Then she pulled away, a twinkle in her eye. "Let's go home. Celebrate properly."

"Check, please," Remus immediately said to the passing waitress, causing Hermione to giggle slightly and sit back in her seat, looking at the ring. She tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that was building in her stomach.

"I haven't heard you laugh like that in a long time," he said, smiling over the table at her. "I missed it."

"I laugh, Remus," she said.

"Yeah…but rarely with the…the innocence that you used to."

Hermione felt her smile falter as she processed his words.

"Innocence?" she asked.

"Yes. It's those books you write, I think. I mean…they aren't exactly innocent, are they? They've…you've been letting them change you."

Hermione blinked, unsure she was hearing correctly.

"Remus…you've known about my writing for ages. I mean…you were the first person I told about being the H.J. Granger people were talking about."

"Exactly!" he said. "You kept it a secret from everyone. Somewhere inside you have to realize that you're partially ashamed of what you do."

"What?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"You had a nice little balance going. You didn't let your books get in the way of your life, but when everyone found out – especially Sirius – you changed. You started acting like…like…like one of the characters in your books. Bold, brazen, sexual…that's not you."

"Isn't it?" she asked, starting to get angry at the presumption of her fiancé.

"Of course not," he replied, a bemused smile on his face as if he had no idea why she hadn't thought of it before. "I mean…this whole nonsense with Sirius…just because of a silly review…you can't have thought your books were great literature, darling. I mean…they're not the most enduring books, are they?"

"Oh my God," Hermione said softly, for the first time feeling a proper anger toward the man in front of her. "You sound just like my father."

Remus blinked.

"I don't," he said defensively. "Your father didn't want you to write at all. I'm very supportive of you writing, just not…"

"Just not the genre that I _enjoy_ writing, is that it?"

He scoffed.

"C'mon, 'Mione. You've been saying for years that you wished you had time to write something more substantial. Maybe that review was a wake-up call. Something is trying to tell you to stop trying to make your admittedly-trite subject matter into something more. To stop experimenting with ludicrous sexual positions and…"

"Excuse me," she interrupted, officially seething with rage. "You have _never_ complained about _that_ particular aspect of my research before and as long as we're on the subject, _darling_, pardon me for wanting to inject a little variety into the otherwise stale _three_ positions that you favour."

She could see the annoyance starting to flare behind his eyes as his jaw tensed and his nostrils flared. She, however, was just getting started.

"I don't know what _you're_ expecting out of this marriage, but I'm not giving up an _extremely_ lucrative career just because _you_ have misgivings about how I conduct my research."

"_Research_?" he snarled, his fingers digging into the edge of the table in order to maintain his control. "It's nearly akin to _cheating_, Hermione!"

Hermione could tell that their conversation had escalated to a point that held the other diners' unwavering interest, so she swallowed her next comment and lowered her voice.

"We'll continue this discussion when we get home," she murmured.

His eyes narrowed, and he threw his napkin on the table.

"I'm going for a walk," he said, standing and digging into his pocket, throwing a handful of galleons on the table. "Dinner's on me."

And with that, he stalked out.

Taking a look at the empty seat across from her, Hermione sighed. The small black ring box still sat in front of her, though the ring itself felt cold and heavy on her finger. _So much for a happy engagement,_ she thought bitterly as she tried to keep the tears of anger and resentment from her eyes, wishing she wasn't such a recognizable face and that everyone would just _stop looking at her…_

"Your check, Miss Granger," the waitress said, handing Hermione the bill with an empathetic yet supportive smile before sending a death glare to the curious diners around them. Hermione gave her a grateful nod, reaching over with shaking hands to collect the galleons that Remus had all but slammed onto the table.

She swallowed the lump of guilt as she realized that what he had left wasn't quite enough to cover their bill.

Subtly adding more to the pile, she left the money on the table and made a hasty exit, avidly ignoring the looks and whispers that inevitably followed her. Taking off at a brisk pace once she hit the pavement, she rounded corner after corner before finding herself on a deserted street. Tired, cold, and thoroughly embarrassed by their behaviour in the restaurant, Hermione apparated to the top step of Grimmauld Place, steadying herself and taking a deep breath before going inside to face whatever arguments Remus had in store for her.

The house, however, was quiet and a quick homenum revelio showed that the only other person in the house besides her was Sirius, in the library.

'_I sincerely hope he has some firewhisky,'_ she thought as she dropped her purse on the hall table, kicked her shoes off and threw her coat over the banister before heading toward the library.

"Good evening, kitten," a deep, sardonic voice said from the corner of the dimly-lit room. The fire in the grate cast dancing shadows off Sirius's face, making the angles of his perfectly-chiselled cheekbones all the more attractive.

She arched an eyebrow.

"Bit gothic for you, isn't it? Brooding away in a dark room with nothing but the flickering flames to console you?" she asked, making her way to the liquor cabinet.

He let out a scoff.

"Is that your poetically-polite way of calling me a melancholy alcoholic?" he asked.

"Well, there _is_ an air of Edgar Allen Poe about you. I half expect a raven to swoop in and perch on your shoulder as you go into a nostalgic telling of a lost love named Annabel Lee."

"Annabel who?"

Hermione chuckled as she poured the firewhisky into a dusty crystal glass.

"Never mind." She downed the drink, cringing slightly as the alcohol burned through her body before filling her with warmth. Pouring herself another, she turned to face him, glass in hand, and leaned back against the cabinet.

"So," she said, appraising him. "Decided to take a night off carousing?"

He gave a small smirk.

"Still interested, are we? I thought I had scared you away."

"What gave you that idea?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"You haven't spoken to me in the past week or so. I figured you had everything you needed. At least enough to fill one book. Unless," he added, eyes alighting in their mischievous twinkle. "You're starting to get some small thrill from being around me?"

She arched an eyebrow.

"If that _was_ the case, which is _isn't_, are you saying you would rather I stayed away?"

His eyes raked slowly over her body.

"Not at all, kitten," he all but purred. "It's just…I wouldn't want Remus thinking we're carrying on something a bit more intimate than just interviews."

"Ah, so you care now, do you?" she countered. "Last week you didn't seem too terribly concerned."

He looked at her – appraising her – and she could almost feel the heat from his gaze travelling slowly up and down her body. She felt that same sick feeling of desire and fear – something only _he_ could instill in her – and she knew he saw the shiver that passed through her under his gaze.

"You like it, don't you?" he asked softly. "You put up a strong front, but deep down, in a perverse way you like the way I make you feel when I look at you."

"What woman wouldn't," she admitted, though she avoided his gaze. "But we both know neither of us would take it passed just looking."

"Oh?" he asked, and she looked up to see him slowly standing and approaching her with an almost-predatory grace. "And what makes you so sure that you possess the self-control?"

"Well, I…wait. _Me_?"

He chuckled, getting closer.

"I know when to stop, kitten. It comes from years of training. But do you?"

"Of course I do," she snapped, though she sounded much more confident than she felt as she caught his unique scent of sandalwood and cinnamon on the air.

"I'm no so sure," he breathed, his body barely an inch from her as he lowered his head closer to hers. "After all, you and Remus haven't made love this week. I know, because I haven't heard you. And I could smell you from the moment you entered the room. Desire mixed with anger and resentment. You're practically panting for it."

"You get all that from a scent?" she whispered, her eyes locked on his, feeling very much like a tiny, defenceless animal under the spell of some larger, dangerous creature.

"All that, and more," he said with a grin, his breath warm on her upper lip. "Like I know you really want me to kiss you right now."

"I do not," she said stubbornly, but she could feel her pulse racing as she felt him flush against her body.

"Oh no?" he purred, his lips millimetres from hers and she inhaled the smell of firewhisky and could feel herself starting to falter.

"No," she replied, images of her lips pressed against his and her body completely under his control.

To feel – just once – what it would be like to lose herself so utterly to someone.

"Then why are you pressing yourself against me?" he asked.

"I'm not! I…" but as she looked down, it was her body that was shifting against his, the liquor cabinet almost half a foot away from her body.

"Damnit," she hissed, knowing she should pull back, that it was _wrong_, that Remus would be home any second…

But she just couldn't move.

"You see, kitten?" he said softly, his nose nudging hers ever so gently. "I warned you…"

Then his lips were on hers. She didn't know who had started it – though if she had to guess, she knew it was probably her – and within seconds he had her sitting on top of the liquor cabinet, legs spread on either side of his hips and his large hands moulding to her waist.

"We shouldn't…" she gasped between hot, passionate kisses, her fingers winding through his hair, fisting the silky raven tresses as she pulled her body closer to his, longing to feel every inch of him pressed tight to her body.

"No…we shouldn't…" he replied, his voice husky with his desire as he ravaged her mouth again, insistently taking and devouring every secret she possessed. Heat – the likes of which she had never felt before – slid over her, burning its way across every patch of skin he touched. He ran his hands up her arms, entwining his fingers with hers and pushing them back against the wall, causing her chest to thrust out to his hungry gaze while limiting her movement. She panted in anticipation of the fall off the precipice of no return.

Then he froze.

She looked at him, arms still locked, chest heaving, and frowned when she saw his gaze fixed on her hands. Following his eye line, she realized what he was looking at.

Her ring.

"You're engaged," he whispered.

"Yes."

"You're engaged and…oh Jesus…" he murmured, pulling away from her and stumbling slightly over the carpet.

She slowly slid down to the floor, straightening her clothes as the moment of heat disintegrated and the full weight of the situation swept shame and guilt through her.

"I should…I'm gonna go," she said, chancing a glace at him.

She was almost at the door when she heard him whisper:

"Why?"

She turned.

"Why what?"

He looked up at her, and she nearly gasped at the look of vulnerability mixed with a tiny glimmer of sheer hatred.

"Why did you kiss me?" he asked flatly.

"I…I don't know. I…I guess I was caught up…"

"You _just_ got engaged!" he roared. "How the _fuck_ could you just…" He trailed off, shaking his head and turning away from her.

She took a deep breath, looking at his back.

"I guess I just wanted to see if I could…you know…if I could do it."

He whirled around.

"See if you could what?" he asked in a soft, dangerous tone.

"Cheat," she said simply.

They looked at each other for a second before Sirius was in front of her – upon her – her body trapped between him and the door and his face so close that she could the tiny flecks of crystal lunacy that always threatened to escape just behind his eyes.

"You want to know?" he breathed, and suddenly he had lifted her up, pressing the hard, denim-clad outline of his erection into her cotton-clad, aching core as her legs involuntarily wrapped around his hips. "Allow me to demonstrate…"

"Hello?"

They froze, listening as the front door slammed shut and footsteps drew closer.

"Hello?"

Sirius let her legs drop, and backed away silently as she straightened up. Heart thrumming and head pounding, Hermione set her face into the much-practiced façade of cool indifference.

She opened the library door just as the footsteps drew up to it, and almost walked into Remus.

"Ah...yes. I…er…hoped you'd be home," he said.

"Well, I am," she replied, using her self-hatred of the moment as a catalyst to re-ignite the anger and frustration she had felt for her fiancé earlier that night.

She knew he felt her icy tone, because he sighed.

"I was wrong," he said, sounding thoroughly shamed. "I was just being a jealous sod and I know you and I trust you enough not to betray me. I suppose…I suppose I was just insecure. I honestly didn't mean what I said about your writing. I think you're a marvellous writer, and however you'd like to share that talent is your own decision."

She blinked, looking up at him with confusion and indecision.

"Say something, please," he begged after a few seconds had gone by in silence. "Tell me you forgive me. Tell me we can put all this behind us."

She frowned.

"I…I don't know, Remus. It's just that…well…things seemed to have gotten more complicated…"

"Remus, old man, may I offer my congratulations," Sirius interrupted, striding over quickly and inserting himself between the two. "I hear you're finally gonna make it official."

Remus looked from his friend to Hermione in mild confusion.

"I…well…if she consents to it, yes."

"Well, she's wearing the ring, isn't she?" Sirius said, gesturing to Hermione's left hand. "She came in and showed me as soon as she got home, which I would assume is a good sign, right?"

Remus blinked.

"I…yes, I suppose it is."

"Tell you what," Sirius said. "I have a bottle of ludicrously expensive champagne in the kitchen. What do you say we put it on ice and celebrate, eh?"

"I…well, alright."

"Remus," Hermione said. "Why don't you go get it? I have to speak with Sirius for a moment. Just some…unfinished business."

Remus looked at her.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?"

Hermione chanced a glance at Sirius, who in turn gave her such a dark look that she quickly looked back into the warm, pleading amber eyes of her fiancé with a small smile.

"Of course it does, darling," she said.

He gave her a broad smile and wrapped his arms around her, giving her a deep kiss.

"I love you," he said before hurrying down to the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" both Sirius and Hermione hissed at each other at the exact same time.

"I'm helping you avoid a potentially damaging situation," Sirius replied.

"I was trying to be honest with him," she countered.

"Wake up, Hermione. You love him, and he loves you. Whatever you might think you feel for me…it's nothing compared to what you have with him."

"Don't pretend to know what I'm feeling, Sirius, and for the record…well…I know I'm not alone in feeling what I'm feeling."

His eyes darkened.

"You're playing with fire, kitten. Don't make nothing into something."

"It wasn't nothing to me," she hissed.

He looked at her, seemingly registering her words, but before he could respond, Remus returned.

"Ah, the bubbly," Sirius said, taking it from Remus and opening it while Remus handed out glasses. The 'POP' of the cork seemed to echo through the cavernous house.

"To the happy couple," Sirius said as they toasted. "And to a lifetime of happiness and loyalty together."

They clinked glasses, but as Hermione lifted hers, she once again chanced a glance back at Sirius. He was watching her, and his gaze triggered images of them in the library and imaginings of what would have happened had they not been interrupted.

Sirius swallowed the alcohol, breaking his gaze to look at his best friend. Remus was watching him, but the glow in his amber eyes was not warm like they were for Hermione. They confirmed the one thing Sirius had always dreaded – that Remus _knew_.

He had always known.

'_Not this time, Padfoot,'_ his look clearly warned. _'This one's mine.'_

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_Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it!  
_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I don't know if those of you who are reading this are also reading my story "Need You Now", but basically life's been ridiculously chaotic. If you'd like a daily play-by-play, follow me on Twitter. My handle is on my profile.

FYI - This is unbeta'd except for what I've done myself. Don't point out my errors, please. I'm a proficient enough writer to be coherent in spite of mild spelling and grammar mistakes. I don't need anyone pointing out misspellings and nit-picking at my grammar. It just ticks me off.

Thanks. Enjoy.

**

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Chapter Five – Session Three**

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Hermione sat, quill poised, across from Sirius on the long couch in the library. Sirius sat on one of the overstuffed armchairs, equally as silent as she, waiting for someone to break the insurmountable amount of tension in the room.

Neither spoke.

It had been all of three days since their encounter in the library. Three days since Hermione had agreed to become Mrs. Remus Lupin. And in those three days, Sirius had avoided her like the plague until she had caught him unawares in that very same library and plopped down across from the coffee table, quill still in hand from the work she had been doing before she had made her run for the library. He had stared, disbelief at her brazen approach, but as he stood to leave, she gave a flick of her wand and the chair slid under him, taking his knees out and forcing him to sit back down.

The tell-tale 'click' of the lock told him that there was no way out. Not without a fight.

"What do you want?"

He asked it tonelessly, without preamble or warning. Just four simple words that cut through the silence in icy accusation.

"You can't keep avoiding me forever, and if you truly want to pretend it didn't happen, then you definitely can't keep avoiding me," she replied, her voice sounding infinitely more confident than she was feeling as she found herself dangerously close to falling into his beautiful grey eyes. The only thing that was stopping her was the look of hatred and disgust that stared so plainly back at her.

"I thought it was best for all concerned that I kept my distance," he replied, his tone still cold.

"I think we need to talk about what happened," she said matter-of-factly.

"You do, do you?" he replied, eyes narrowing.

"Yes," she said, though she wasn't as successful keeping the tremor out of her voice when she said it.

"You know the history, Hermione," he said darkly. "Remus and Marlene were happy...deliriously so...but she got curious. Sooner or later they all get curious...the only exception to that rule was Lily."

Hermione couldn't help the roll of her eyes at his words.

"Are you really so self-centred that you think every woman in your immediate presence is _fascinated_ by you to the point of distraction?"

"It has nothing to do with self-importance. It's cold, hard fact."

Hermione fought the bubble of sarcasm that caught in her throat and nodded.

"Fine. So she became curious. So what? Remus was one of your best friends...or did you conveniently forget that like you did three nights ago?"

"I didn't forget it three nights ago, Miss Granger and you'll do well to remember who started things," he growled, his eyes taking on a rougher, more feral glow.

"I may have initiated it, but it takes two to tango, Sirius. You weren't exactly fighting me off, y'know? Is that what happened with Marlene?"

He looked away from her, pain passing over his face as he sat his chin on his knuckles, elbow bracing the weight on the arm of the chair, eyes gazing unseeingly out the dusty window.

She watched him closely. She wasn't interviewing him anymore - not really. She admitted her fascination. To some extent she admitted her lust. But she couldn't seem to wrap her mind around the fact that she wanted to envelop him in her arms every time he looked like a vulnerable, lost little boy.

"Why are you so interested in ancient history, Hermione?" he finally asked softly.

She shrugged.

"Maybe I'm interested in why history seems to be repeating itself."

"Because that's the nature of history. It always repeats itself," he said quietly, his gaze still avoiding hers, his eyes still heavy with a sorrow she had yet to understand.

"Tell me what happened, Sirius," she said softly. "Tell me what happened with Marlene."

He stiffened, shoulders tense as he slumped deeper into his chair.

"She got curious," he said simply, as if that explained it.

It didn't.

"You slept with her, didn't you?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper but she knew he heard.

He shook his head, but not in denial. It was a shake that said it was too painful, too hard to verbalize.

"She and Remus fought," Hermione guessed. "She came to you for comfort. You took advantage of her anger and her vulnerability..."

"No," he interrupted sharply, head snapping to glare at her. "I didn't take advantage of anything. _She_ came to _me_. _She_ asked me to make it go away..."

"Make what go away?"

He sighed.

"Him."

Hermione frowned.

"Him who?"

"Remus."

That startled her. What woman in her right mind would choose Sirius over Remus?

Then again...

"What did he do to her?" she asked, throat tense at the idea that in the five years she had known the man, there was something she still didn't know about her fiancé.

"Nothing," Sirius said. "He didn't do anything to her."

"Then what..."

"God, 'Mione," he growled, looking at her with anger in his eyes. "It was twenty years ago. People weren't as open-minded as they are now, and she had grown up in a family...she just...she didn't know how to deal with it."

"Deal with _what_, Sirius?"

"_Him_!" he all but shouted, eyes silver with anger. "She didn't know how to deal with _him_!"

"Sirius, Remus is one of the most kind-hearted, generous, giving…"

"He's also a _werewolf_, Hermione. He turns into a blood-thirsty, vicious killing machine once a month and she couldn't deal with that," he shouted, almost standing but fell back in his chair as if his legs weren't working correctly. "She couldn't…she didn't know how to…"

He stopped speaking, and for the first time in the years she had known the man, Sirius started crying.

Hermione didn't know how it happened, but suddenly she was there next to him, sitting on the arm of his chair, her arms enveloped around his lithe body as he let the tears stream down his face.

"She couldn't deal with him," he whispered. "She loved him…so much…but…she just…she didn't have my rebellious streak. She was a good little pureblood through school. Didn't do anything wrong. But she had loved Remus even then, and when she joined the Order…it was like she had the chance to be with him. But then she learned the truth and for awhile she was okay with it but then…"

He gave a shuddering breath, his whole body giving one great shiver as he relived the memory.

"The night she came over, she saw him shift. Not on purpose – he was always very careful – but she saw it. And she…it…him. She came over and somewhere along the line I realized that by being there for her…all those months of being in the Order with her, being friends with her…she saw me as an escape. She saw me as a way out and she…she took it. She…we…"

He swallowed hard, but he didn't need to finish the sentence.

"You slept with her," Hermione said, pulling away from him.

He turned to her, gripping her arm and looking up at her with big, beseeching eyes.

"I told her we couldn't. I tried…the next morning, after everything, I told her…he was my best friend and I told her that we couldn't…that it would break his heart…but she wouldn't listen. She thought…I guess she hoped…"

He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.

"She left, saying that she had to go back to her place but she would come back that night, and we would talk about it. Remus came over. He…he seemed to know she would be there. I told him that she had come over but by the time I got around to having the courage to tell him the truth…we got the owl."

Hermione tensed.

"She'd been killed," she said softly.

He nodded, "The look on Remus's face…the anguish…he…he blamed himself and I…I couldn't tell him that I…that we'd…"

He gave a feeble shrug, and Hermione let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"So he doesn't know," she said, her voice nearly empty of emotion as she tried to process the news.

"I thought so, until three nights ago."

She looked at him, and he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Did he say something?" she asked.

"He didn't have to. It was in his eyes. He knew, and he knew that something was up between us, and I'm _not_…I _can't_…not again."

She gave a deep breath, then nodded. She started to stand, but his grip on her arm held her back down. She looked at it – so large and graceful – and looked at him. The tears had made his eyes almost glow and the tear tracks down his face softened the angles that made him truly beautiful to behold.

He took her breath away.

"Sirius…I can't…I don't think I can stop myself," she whispered softly, feeling her body drawn to his.

He just stared at her, his eyes soft and unreadable, and her eyes fell on his lips. Those full, gorgeous lips that she had fantasized about for days. She had never thought that she would ever be so drawn to him but as he sat there, looking so helpless, she was torn between wanting to make the sadness in his eyes to go away and getting as far away from him as she could to avoid doing anything they would regret in the future.

"Hermione, you're the only one…I haven't told _anyone_ about this…not even James."

She swallowed, feeling her pulse speed up as the hand on her arm loosened, though his fingers started to caress her skin. She felt electricity speed through her and something tightened low in her body. What was it about him that made her feel like she wanted to pet him one minute and do something entirely less appropriate to him the next?

"God," he whispered, his eyes taking her in. "The way you're looking at me…I've just told you something so horrible…so devastatingly terrible…and you're looking at me as if you…how can you look at me like that?"

She licked her lips nervously.

"Because I know you," she said softly. "And for all your trying, you're not a bad man. Not in the way you want us to believe. You have your morals…as messed up as they sometimes are…and you live by them. And I know that this has been eating away at you for all these years and I can't seem to hold you accountable for it because…because I think somewhere in all that mess I can understand why she came to you."

"Why?" he asked, pleading with her as if he truly didn't know the answer.

She looked deep into his eyes.

"I can't speak for other women," she said softly. "But to me you're Prince fucking Charming."

She caught his lips, clutching his chin as she suddenly felt like the earth, the sun, the moon, and the stars were all wrapped up in that one moment of clandestine, forbidden pleasure. She felt his arms slide around her waist, pulling her down to him and she threw a leg over his hips so she was straddling him.

Hands moulded to her body as she ran her fingers through his hair, relying on her sense of touch as her eyes drifted closed. She gasped at the sensation of his lips sliding down her neck, the light stubble on his chin sending a delicious thrill through her as it made contact with her skin. Her hips moved of their own accord, rocking gently against the bulge in his jeans while he slid her white over-shirt off her shoulders, kissing her collarbone.

Somewhere in her mind, Hermione knew that this person – this sexually-deviant, morally-ambiguous person mindlessly committing the worst kind of betrayal – was not her. She, Hermione Jean Granger, would never flagrantly laugh at a truly loving five-year relationship by seducing her fiancé's best friend.

And yet that was what she was doing.

Calloused hands ran under her ribbed tank and she let a soft moan escape her lips as her body came alive, fire coursing through her veins as she bent down to taste his kiss again. Biting his lower lip and throwing her head back, Hermione knew her moves were choreographed. They were too perfect, too wanton, too…

Too fictional.

Opening her eyes, Hermione realized she was acting just like her heroine. Brazen, reckless, lust-filled…she was playing the part.

But was it acting?

Everything felt too good, too right, too _perfect_ to just be an act. Something deep within her had been tapped – something dark and perverse – that made it so easy for her to abandon the standards she had placed on herself. Was Sirius the man who had tapped into it? Or had she tapped into it right about the time she started realizing that he embodied everything she had craved in a fictional hero the entire time?

"What's wrong, love?" Sirius asked, and she noticed that she was no longer responding to him, so caught up in this new, frightening revelation about herself.

"I…I can't," she said, disentangling herself from him and placing a healthy distance between them.

He looked up at her with those sad, haunted eyes.

"I understand," he said softly, looking away from her to look out the window once more.

"No, you don't understand," Hermione said softly. "You…I've just realized something that I need some time to work out, but if you're willing to wait for me…"

"Don't do that," he said, shaking his head but still not looking at her. "Don't give me hope."

She blinked.

"Hope? Sirius…"

"Just go, Hermione," he whispered, his eyes gazing unseeingly out of the window.

Under normal circumstances, she would have argued that they hadn't truly finished their discussion, but she knew that their behaviour toward each other would be a practiced normal, albeit more cautious.

Grabbing her parchment and quill, Hermione unlocked the door and ran up to her room in search of Remus.

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_Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it._


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N:_**_ Sheesh. It has been an pretty unforgivable amount of time since I updated this, hasn't it?_

_This chapter departs a bit from the direction the previous chapters were taking, but I swear there is a method to my madness. This is a RemusHermioneSirius story, after all, not just a HermioneSirius or HermioneRemus._

_Anyway, I hope you like it._

_And Amy - no matter what you may think, you are still the Golden to my Duo. You are infinitely more talented than you give yourself credit for. I love you and thank you for everything you've done for me, and will do for me in the future._

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**Chapter Six – The Mirror of Truth**

Remus sat alone at a table in the Hog's Head, nursing a pint of ale and trying to make sense of all the thoughts that were running through his head. He didn't know how everything had gotten so turned around. One minute, he had been in a loving, mutually-satisfying relationship, and the next, he was fighting to keep a woman he barely recognized. Hermione had been the woman he had thought he would always be able to count on. She was smart, steady and predictable. While he knew that most of her friends considered that boring, it was the part he loved most about her.

Recently, however, her personality had shifted. Though still the smart, successful woman he knew, she now had an edge to her. An edge that seemed in perpetual search for some type of adventure. Though he was a reasonably certain that she kept most of that spirit confined within the pages of her novels, he could tell that it was only a matter of time before she went looking for something to quench that new-found hunger.

Sirius was the perfect person for that new, adventurous side; a fact that scared Remus to no end.

"Good God, could you have picked a drearier place to meet?"

Remus looked up from his glass to see an impeccably made-up, beautiful blonde slide into the chair across from him, her warm brown eyes surveying the pub with a look of misgiving. She motioned to Aberforth for a glass of ale before turning to look at him, surveying him with an appraising, honest eye.

"Hello, darling. You look like shit," she said candidly.

He gave a bitter chuckle.

"Good to see you too, Amanda," he replied dryly.

She shot a grateful smile to the bar as her pint floated toward her, then turned her attention back to him.

"I see we're in one of _those_ moods, then. Alright, Sulky, what's up? Did Ms. Perfect not go for the whole "please-marry-me-even-though-you're-_way_-too-good-for-me" thing?" she teased.

Remus had promised himself he wasn't going to cry. He never cried, even when he had very good reasons to do so. But Amanda McKinnon was one of a handful of people who knew him inside and out, and it was that reason and that reason alone that he could not control the tears that started to fall.

Amanda was next to him in a heartbeat.

"Hey now," she whispered, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. "I was only joking. What happened?"

"Everything is falling apart," he said softly. "I don't...I don't even know her anymore."

"Who? Hermione? Remus, you two have been together forever. Who knows her better if not you?"

He gave a deep sigh.

"I don't know. But I can feel everything changing. We had a huge row five minutes after we got engaged. I mean, who does that?"

"You're engaged? Congratulations!"

"I don't even know anymore. I said some stupid stuff and I apologized but...I didn't mean it."

"From my observations, it wouldn't be a marriage if you weren't apologizing for something or other, even if you don't mean it. We women can be oversensitive sometimes."

"That's not it. I'm not wrong. It's just...the last time I felt so strongly about someone, I lost her."

"You're not going to lose Hermione, Remus. She loves you."

"I don't know that."

"She agreed to marry you, didn't she?"

"But she's changed! She used to be this stable, reliable, conservative woman and I loved her for it. Now, it's like...I don't know, like she doesn't want to be that woman anymore."

"Remus, I've never met Hermione Granger, but from what I've heard and from what I've read, she was _never_ that type of woman. Marlene was."

Remus looked up at the woman next to him. Amanda was the very picture of her sister, though perhaps a little less naive than the woman he had once loved. Even with fifteen years between them, Amanda possessed an intellect that had always surprised Remus. She was the mirror of truth he could never escape from; the purveyor of wisdom beyond her years that she had spun into a rather lucrative career as a psycho-analyst at St. Mungo's.

Theirs was a complicated relationship. She had been seven when Marlene had been killed. Her parents had been devastated in spite of disowning Marlene years earlier. They had turned their guilt and self-pity on Amanda, who in turn rebelled and ran away at the age of thirteen. Remembering Remus as the last connection to her sister, she had shown up on his doorstep soon after. Though he had no means to support her, with the help of Dumbledore Remus managed to get her into Beauxbatons and since then he had been both a mentor and a supportive older brother figure to her.

Recently, however, she had played more of the part of the supportive sibling than he.

"Mandy...Hermione has _always_ been..."

"Strong? Self-reliant? Predictable? Remus, think about it. You two got together just a few years after the war. She had spent most of her adolescence under some kind of threat. At that time, she _needed_ routine, peace and quiet. But now...I suppose she's grown tired of it."

"But why does she have to change?"

"People develop, Remus, they don't necessarily change."

"Marlene didn't 'develop.' She just...was."

"Are you asking Hermione to be like Marlene?"

"No, of course not."

"It sounds a little like you are."

"Well...I'm not saying it would be a bad thing if she remained that strong, self-reliant, predictable woman I knew. But Marlene's definitely changed."

"You mean Hermione."

"I...yes. I mean Hermione."

"Remus, are you still in love with my sister?"

Remus paused. There it was. The mirror of truth he couldn't avoid.

"It's just...they're so similar..."

"Is it possible you're attributing some of Marlene's personality traits to Hermione? Is it possible that in the past four years, you've only seen what you wanted to see?"

"No, I...you said it yourself, she needed routine, peace and quiet..."

"Yes. She did. But the war is over, Remus...has been for several years now. Maybe she needs to be that adventurous person again...but under _her_ terms, not the terms of circumstance."

"But she's been acting like she wants to be a heroine in one of her books."

Amanda chuckled.

"Have you read her books closely, Remus? She's _already_ a character in them. Her heroines go on adventures, fight evil and are essentially kick-ass feminist figures. The only difference is that she has transposed her adventures with Harry Potter and turned it into a more...adult franchise."

Remus frowned.

"Are you saying she wants to be with Harry?"

Amanda rolled her eyes.

"No, you idiot. But I think she's getting a little restless. Did you read her latest book? It's the first one that doesn't have some tie-in to the adventures of her youth and even though it's good, it's not as thrilling."

"Sirius is _thrilling_," Remus mumbled.

"Uh-oh," she said.

"What?"

"Well, dear, you've introduced a new character to the discussion. What does Sirius have to do with Hermione?"

Remus sighed.

"Hermione decided she needed to do research into the male mind and for reasons unbeknownst to me, she focused on Sirius."

"Ah. She must have read that review in the _Prophet_."

Remus looked at her in annoyance.

"What are you, her number one fan?"

Amanda arched an eyebrow.

"Contrary to what you may think, Remus, you are not the be all and end all of my world. I happen to be a big fan of your fiancée's work as well as an avid reader of the Arts & Leisure section of the _Prophet_. Besides," she added, moving back to the chair across from him. "I have to keep up with her somehow, since she _still_ doesn't seem to know I exist."

She gave him a meaningful look and he looked at the table, pretending to concentrate on the grain of the wood.

"I haven't figured out a way of explaining you yet," he said.

"Explaining me? You make me sound like a dirty little secret."

"Look, explaining you would mean having to explain Marlene. We've...we've never discussed it further than a few sentences. She doesn't know how much Marlene meant to me. How do I tell her that I was _engaged_ to your sister?"

"What, do you think she'll feel threatened? Marlene's been dead for over twenty years, Remus."

"But there's so much baggage..."

"Remus, she's an extremely intelligent woman. Don't you think she'll find out on her own? _Especially_ if she's talking to Sirius?"

"Sirius has his own baggage where Marlene was concerned, plus...he never knew we were engaged."

"How did he not know?"

"Because he slept with her before I had a chance to tell him."

Amanda blinked.

"He _what_?" she whispered.

Remus sighed again.

"It wasn't his fault. I forgave him long ago. I don't even think he knows that I knew."

"Wait. Back up. Marlene slept with _Sirius_? Sirius Black?"

Remus closed his eyes.

"It was the night before she died," he said.

Amanda frowned.

"I thought you two became engaged the night before she died?"

"We did. I seem to have a knack for fucking up my proposals."

Amanda sat back, brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of everything.

"Alright. Explain this to me. How did my sister go from being engaged to you to sleeping with your best friend? And how on _earth_ was it _your_ fault?"

Remus took a long sip of his ale before he spoke.

"The night we became engaged was the night of the full moon. I had planned it that way...so she could see what it would be like. She said she was ready to see but...but when the moment came she got scared. She was terrified, actually. She left and...and she went to Sirius. They had been friends, so it stood to reason, I guess.

"I don't know exactly what happened - though I could imagine - but the next day I went to talk to him, knowing that he would have been the one she would run to. James and Lily were already in hiding so he would have been the only one, you know? As soon as I got there I...I smelled her on him and I could smell his guilt and shame."

He pressed on, wanting to get it all out before his emotions took over again.

"We talked about how she had come to him but before he had a chance to come clean we...we got the owl that said she...that said she was dead and...and I guess I just left it because I knew that I...that I _pushed_ her to him."

He shook his head, trying to stop the new wave of tears that were threatening to spill over, "Unfortunately, not it's just a little bit of history repeating itself.

"So...you think _Hermione_ is going to sleep with Sirius?"

He groaned, running his hand over his face.

"I don't know. Part of me says 'no' but...the night she and I got engaged and then fought, I went for a walk to cool off. When I got home, they were in the library together. I could smell him on her. And the guilt and the shame all over again but the thing is..." He looked into Amanda's eyes. "I don't even know if I cared."

Amanda rolled her eyes once more.

"Of _course_ you care. You wouldn't be such a weepy wreck if you didn't care."

He managed a chuckle.

"God, I don't know. I suppose you're right about Hermione. The girl I knew at Hogwarts was nothing like the woman I ended up falling in love with. I suppose that's why I didn't mind the age gap, or that I had once been her professor, because she seemed so different - so mature. I don't know if I can handle the adventurous, up-for-anything girl from back then. It feels so...wrong. Especially when I _know_ she has the capacity to be the sweet, kind-hearted woman I love."

"Hermione's not Marlene, Remus, no matter how much you wish she was," Amanda said softly.

"I don't want her to be Marlene. I want her to be Hermione."

"Then let her _be_ Hermione."

"What are you talking about?"

"Hear me out," she said. "Hermione is in her early twenties. She has an exceptionally successful talent but very little life experience _as an adult_ that she can draw from. She needs to figure out who she is. She's tried the quiet life. Maybe now she wants to see what excitement feels like...without mortal peril."

"I'm not asking her to become some little housewife who stays at home with a herd of children."

"Maybe not. But a woman with such a large capacity for life like Hermione can't simply be expected to fall into matrimony and comfortable routine without a little bit of experimentation."

Remus glared at her.

"So you're saying I should just...what? Let her 'experiment' with Sirius and hope she comes back to me?"

"Of course not. But you can talk to her. See what _she_ wants. Tell her that you're afraid she'll leave you for Sirius. Be vulnerable. I know you're not good at that," she added quickly when she saw he was about to argue. "But if you want it to work, you need to be honest. That's IF you want it to work," she finished.

He looked at his glass.

"I don't know if I want it to work if she expects me to be like Sirius."

"As much as you expect her to be like Marlene?"

He glared at her again and she sighed.

"Fine. Tell her that too. Tell her you're not Sirius."

"And what if she does leave me for him?"

Amanda sighed.

"Unfortunately, that's the risk you take with full disclosure."

He let out a puff of air.

"I don't know if I'm ready for that."

She put her hand over his.

"It beats the alternative. Going through every day worrying that she's cheating on you will only make things more difficult."

"I know."

"Good. Now," she said, her tone changing to one that sounded less like an analyst and more like a little sister, "Since I'm not charging you for this 'session,' the least you can do is pay for my drink and take me out to a proper dinner like the surrogate big brother you are."

He smiled slightly.

"Deal."

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_As I said, a bit of a departure, but thanks for reading!_

_Hope you liked it!_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N:** I already know that some of you are not going to like the direction that this chapter goes it. I also know that those of you who leave a review **saying** how much you don't like it & how dare I & yada yada yada have either **a.) **not read the summary where it clearly states that this is a SiriusHermioneRemus fic and **b.)** haven't read this author's note._

_This is a work-in-progress. Therefore, there has to be progress. In order for there to be progress, there have to be obstacles. Even the greenest student of history will tell you this. So **be patient.**_

_Thanks to **GrandeVanillaSkimLatte** (my dearest darling-est bestest friend in the universe) for the beta. If you're new to my work & haven't checked her out yet, do so. She is the QUEEN of smut-tastic fanfic._

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**Chapter 7 – Session Four**

Hermione shifted uncomfortably under Remus's steady eyes, her hands folded in her lap. It was odd, sitting there in the library in silence as he appraised her. She knew now how Sirius must have felt all those times they had sat together, speaking about his sordid history.

Clearing her throat, she leaned forward a bit.

"So," she said, trying to take the tremor of anxiety from her voice. "You wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes," he replied calmly. "About Sirius."

"What about Sirius?"

"I suppose, more specifically, about you and Sirius."

She swallowed.

"There is no me and Sirius, Remus."

He looked at her, taking in her response and she trained herself not the shuffle under his watchful eye. He knew something. Or if he didn't _know_, he definitely suspected.

"Perhaps not yet," he finally said. "Or perhaps not to the extent that it could be. But very soon, I suspect, there may be."

"What may be?"

"Please don't play this game with me, Hermione. After so many years we owe each other at least that."

She looked down at her hands then, knowing that he was right. They had been together long enough to know all the signals for when the other was hiding something. He must have known, therefore, of her heart's conflicted emotions. As much as she loved him - and she did - she still begged the treacherous question of whether that was enough for her.

"I see from the fact that you're still wearing my ring that you still want to marry me?" he continued.

She looked up into his eyes.

"I love you, Remus."

His gaze softened somewhat.

"That may be true," he said. "But it does not answer the question."

She inhaled deeply, cursing him his near-clairvoyant sense of perception. Damn him!

"I want to get married, Remus. You've always known that."

He sighed.

"Closer, but still not an answer. Are you being vague on purpose, 'Mione?"

"I'm not being..."

"Hermione," he interrupted, his tone taking on the professorial seriousness that he hadn't used with her in years. "Please. I _know_ you."

"I'm...I'm very confused, Remus. I...I can't help reliving all the things you said the night you proposed. And I...I can't help thinking that your apology wasn't...wasn't sincere."

He leaned back into the sofa, looking at her for a moment before sighing.

"I suppose since I expect full disclosure, I should be just as honest. It wasn't sincere. I meant it. And I still do."

In spite of knowing it all along, Hermione couldn't help feeling like she had been punched in the stomach.

"So...you think what I write...my _passion_...is trite and disposable?" she asked.

"I think your talent is _better _than what you write. But you don't seem to want to break out of the erotic and the debauched."

"You're _hardly_ one to talk, Remus. You enjoy sex as much as I do, and if I'm honest, sometimes _more_ than I do."

His face hardened and she knew she had crossed a line. She really couldn't say anything negative about his prowess in bed. She had thoroughly enjoyed herself for four years, and Remus was an exceptionally attentive and caring lover.

There were just those nights before the full moon, where his more primal side would take over and he would just... _possess_ her. She shivered at the thought. She loved those nights because he wasn't so in control; he wasn't so concerned with making it romantic or comfortable. He just _was_.

"I'm sorry, Remus, that wasn't fair," she said, rubbing her eyes with a sigh. "I just...I don't know how to deal with this. How long have you felt this way?"

"I've always felt you were too good for romance novels. I used to read your short stories and they held so much depth. These novels...I don't know."

She looked at him.

"Have you actually read them without a negative preconceived notion?"

"Hermione..."

"No, Remus. You say you read my short stories and there was depth to them. Most of my novels are _based _on my short stories! You just...you're too blinded by...by...I don't even _know_ what you're blinded by!"

Remus looked at her as though she were a stranger.

"I feel like I don't know you anymore," he said softly. "We used to laugh at the fact that you wrote romance novels. We used to mock it, saying that it was only a way to get your foot in the door with a publishing house. Christ, Hermione, you didn't even want to use your real name! Now you're _defending_ them?"

"Yes! Because I love what I do and I love what I write and I'm no longer afraid that people will think less of me because of it! I like sex, okay? I like it and I just want to be with someone who..."

She stopped herself before she said something that she wouldn't be able to take back. Remus, however, wasn't so easily deterred.

"You want to be with someone who what?" he asked softly. "Who will give into every Goddamn whim and fancy that crosses your mind? Because that's what I've been doing for..."

"No," she said. "No, that's not it."

"Then what, Hermione? What?"

"I'm tired, Remus."

"No, don't do that. We're going to talk about this."

"To what end?" she asked, desperation starting to show. "Are we going to talk about it until we talk ourselves out of being together? Because that's where this is headed."

"Hermione, I _want _to make this work. I _want_ to be with you. I love you. It's just...I don't know if I...if I _like_ you anymore."

She scoffed slightly.

"Well, that's a fine basis for a marriage, isn't it?"

"This isn't you!" he said. "You're not someone who's driven by your sexuality. There's so much more to you than that."

"Nobody but you is saying that there isn't."

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.

"What do you want in your life? In a month, a year, five years? You want to get married. You want children. Do you want your children growing up in a household where their mother is the highest paid purveyor of smut for the wizarding world?"

She glared at him.

"I don't want them growing up thinking that sex..._honest_, trusting, loving sex...is wrong or dirty."

"There are boundaries that can't be crossed, Hermione, and if our children knew what you did for a living it would scar them."

"How would it scar them?"

"They'll think that's all there is! Or at best they'll think it's the only way to express love or romance. They'll...they'll turn into Sirius!"

"I'd rather they turn into Sirius and express their sexuality honestly than turn into you and hide from it!"

Silence.

"What?"

Hermione closed her eyes. The words had tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them and she cringed, knowing that the conversation had taken a final, dangerous turn.

"Hermione, what...what are you saying, exactly?"

She looked up into his big amber eyes and sighed once more.

"You hold back, Remus. You're so...you're so _afraid_ of what you are that you hold back that side of you. It's... it's like a perpetual barrier. I can handle it in our day-to-day lives, I suppose. I mean...I suppose I know why you do it. It's just...when we make love, I'm always so honest... so open. It's the only way I know how to be. And you... the only time you are, is right before the full moon and you're so...so _ashamed _afterwards. Like you're doing something wrong."

"Hermione, you don't understand how dangerous I can get."

"I trust you. I've always trusted you. But you don't trust yourself and I...I'm getting so tired of being closed off to all of you. Sexually or...or otherwise."

His nostrils flared, but she saw the vulnerability in his eyes.

"And Sirius?" he asked softly.

"Sirius has his faults, Remus, and there are plenty. But one thing he absolutely _isn't_ is reserved in his emotions and discontented with who he is."

"I'm not discontented with who I am. _You_ are."

"I'm not discontented with who you are. I'm discontented with who you _try _to be."

"And who, may I ask, do you think I'm trying to be?"

"Someone normal."

He reeled back, anger starting to flare.

"You don't think I'm normal, do you?" he asked.

"No," she said stoutly. "No, I think you're extraordinary. I think you are a singularly unique man who has overcome several lifetimes of adversity only to shut half of yourself away because you're too worried about what the rest of the world thinks about you to care about what those of us closest to you think. Which is that you are an exquisite balance between a kind, generous, intelligent man and a primal, instinctive being."

"Stop romanticizing it, Hermione! I am an animal! I'm a monster! I _kill_ things! You can't possibly be so stupid as to _want_ me to be that type of man."

"I wouldn't fall in love with a monster, Remus! I looked into your eyes as a girl of fourteen and saw the conflict you go through when you transform. I looked into your eyes and I saw the humanity that lay behind your eyes but you won't let it come out while you're transformed because you _still_ can't accept that a werewolf can _have_ humanity."

"A werewolf _can't_ have humanity, Hermione! You know what I remember from that night? That night you romanticize so much? I remember thinking, 'Look at this little girl. I want to sink my teeth into her flesh and tear her limb from limb.' _That's_ what I remember!"

She stared at him.

"Then why didn't you?" she asked softly.

He opened his mouth to speak, but could not think of a way to reply.

"You had an opportunity," she continued. "There was a moment when you could have easily sunk your teeth into me and killed me. But you didn't. Why?"

He looked at her, anger and frustration rushing through him, but he knew she was right. He _had_ had the opportunity. But something had stopped him. Something deep within him that had given him pause. He hadn't thought of it until that moment.

She sighed, shaking her head.

"I was ready to marry you, you know," she said, rotating the ring on her finger. "And even now, you're the only man in the world who I would ever marry. But I think we need some time apart. I'm discovering things about myself that you cannot accept right now and you're still struggling to accept yourself. I have faith that we will be together again. I just...I don't know if that's now."

"So...what? You're just going to dump me and jump into bed with Sirius?" he snapped.

She looked up into his eyes.

"Not if you don't want me to."

"Of course I don't want you to!"

"Then I won't."

He scoffed.

"And how will I know you won't?"

She bristled.

"You don't trust me?"

"No."

He cringed immediately, knowing that he had just done something unforgivable. She stared at him for a long moment, and then nodded.

"Fine," she said, and took off the engagement ring. "I'll just give this back to you. I guess we both made a mistake thinking this could work."

"No, Hermione, wait..." he started, grabbing her arm as she stood to leave. She gave him such an icy glare that he almost jumped backward.

"I didn't mean..."

"You seem to think so little of me, Remus. You don't respect my work, my actions, and now, you don't trust me at my word. I'm not going to pretend I've been perfect, Remus. I'm not going to say that things with Sirius didn't go past the point of decency, but it could have always gone further and it never did. So when I said I wouldn't, I wasn't going to. But if you can't believe that, then I don't see how this can work. I warned you that we would talk ourselves out of being together. Congratulations! Mission accomplished."

"So that's it?" he said. "We're through?"

"Do you want us to be through?"

"No!"

She took a step closer to him and looked into his eyes.

"Really?" she asked softly.

He knew when she asked that there shouldn't have been hesitation in his mind. But there was. There had been since the minute he had walked into the room with her. And because she knew him so well, she read all of his doubts and hesitation in that moment.

"I want us to work," he said softly. "But...you're just...too much for me right now."

She nodded.

"I know," she said. "And if the truth be told, you're not enough for me right now."

"I still love you."

"And I you."

"So what do we do?"

She smiled slightly.

"We hope," she said softly. "We hope one of us changes."

She pulled her arm from his grasp and walked out the door, closing it behind her. He stared at it, holding the ring she had somehow pressed into his palm, wondering the entire time what the fuck he had just done.

* * *

_Thanks for reading._

_Hope you liked it._


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who was supportive about the last chapter. This is a difficult story as it deals with issues that people seem to find unsavoury, especially in this fandom._

_For those of you who seem to think that I can't relate to what's going on, let me just say this: I've been cheated on. I've also been a cheater. I'm not saying this as something I'm proud of, just as fact. So I know both sides to this coin and trust me when I say it's never as black and white as you'd like it to be._

_This is unbeta'd, so please don't be a grammar Nazi about it. Or as I call it, an arse. Thanks._

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Identity Crisis**

Hermione put down her quill, gently rubbing her eyes before sitting back and stretching. Glancing at the words on the parchment in front of her, she heaved a heavy sigh, pushing it away in frustration. The offending document floated to the floor, joining the other pieces of crumpled paper scattered at her feet.

Three months.

It had been three months since she had broken things off with Remus. Three months since she had briefly explained to Sirius that she couldn't see him for the foreseeable future. Three months since she had left Grimmauld Place and rented a small cottage in the foothills of Wales so she could escape both her raging libido and the palpable sexual tension that seemed to follow her throughout London.

Three months since she had written anything that even closely resembled quality work.

At first she had blamed it on the break up. After all, the creativity didn't just flow after breaking up with someone they loved, at least not for anyone other than musicians. And she wasn't the type of writer who could just "write through" her pain. She was a romance novelist. Pain was part of the package, so long as there was sufficient pleasure to go along with it.

As the second month came to a close, she swiftly realized that while she had plenty of pain, the pain was accompanied by a decided _lack_ of pleasure and _that_ was the problem.

She needed to get laid.

Unfortunately, since her book was essentially about Sirius, it would stand to reason that she would need to "experience" Sirius in order to write about him. And due to the break-up, that was no longer an option.

Why on earth had she promised Remus she wouldn't sleep with Sirius?

Because she was a good person, that's why. Because she had felt so guilty sitting up on her high-horse, lambasting him about trust, when she had so fragrantly violated it. Twice. Well, twice _physically_. If internal thoughts and dreams counted as infractions against her otherwise-unimpeachable character, then she was _definitely_ not in a position to discuss trustworthiness.

But she needed something to break through her writer's block.

When she had first considered her lack of as part of her writing problem, she weighed the option of going into the village, having a stiff drink at the local pub, and taking home the first man who glanced her way that didn't repulse her. While the idea had merit, she quickly dismissed it. She knew that she would still feel incredibly guilty about it, not to mention incredibly cheap. Plus, she had really only had three sexual partners, and while none of them had complained about her prowess between the sheets, she lacked the sufficient confidence to seduce an unsuspecting Welshman into her bed.

After all, she was not one of the characters in her novel.

At least, that's what she told herself. Constantly.

Giving in to her creative constipation, Hermione went to make a pot of tea, dramatically wondering as she walked down to the kitchen if she'd ever be able to write again. That thought, however, was replaced by the more pressing realization that she was not only out of tea, but her cupboards were decidedly bare.

Apparently, her distraction had extended to basic household management.

She toyed with the idea of going into town to get some essentials, but her preoccupation with her potential forced retirement due to her sexless status took precedent. She needed to talk to someone, and quickly. Taking a handful of floo powder, she tossed it into the hearth, watching the green flames appear from the cold ashes and waiting for a head of bright red hair to emerge.

"Hello, stranger," Ginny said with a green-tinted smile. "How's your self-imposed exile going?"

"I need to talk and I'm out of tea. Fancy some company?"

The redhead grinned.

"You caught me at a good time. Just put James down for a nap and Harry's working. Come on over."

Relief spread through Hermione and she stepped into the flames, feeling the swirl of magic surround her as she spun wildly for a few moments before landing in the cozy kitchen of Mr. and Mrs. Harry James Potter.

"So," Ginny said as she stood by the kettle. "What's up?"

"I've lost my talent because I can't have sex," Hermione replied bluntly, sitting heavily at the kitchen table.

"Ah," her friend replied. "Well, that seems like a problem fixed with stronger drinks than tea."

Hermione couldn't help but smile as Ginny produced a bottle of elf-made wine from a cupboard.

"I just don't know anymore, Gin," Hermione said, eagerly accepting a glass. "Every time I sit down to write, it's like every possible nauseating cliché just springs from my quill. It's drivel and it's _bad_ drivel to boot."

"And you think it's because you need to have sex?" Ginny asked.

Hermione didn't know whether to be annoyed or relieved at the amusement in her friend's tone.

"It was just so easy when I was with Remus," Hermione groaned, letting her forehead fall onto the table. "If I was curious about something, I would just push the right buttons and 'Boom!' we'd try it. I had him trained."

"Clearly not well enough, if he's going to throw a hissy fit about you writing romance novels," Ginny commented, her lips pursing slightly in disapproval in a manner eerily like her mother.

Hermione sighed. When she had told Ginny about her break-up with Remus, she hadn't had the energy to explain the "Sirius Situation", as she now called it. Remus's comments about her career, while stinging, were not explosive enough to warrant Ginny's complete ire, but as a definitive feminist Ginny certainly didn't appreciate the fact that he had expressed them at all and therefore hadn't asked many questions when they were all Hermione offered as reasoning for the break-up.

Now, it seemed, Hermione needed to come clean.

"Gin...what he said...while it hurt, it wasn't really..._the_ reason we broke up," she admitted to her friend, sitting back up to look Ginny in the eye.

The redhead's brow furrowed slightly.

"I don't understand."

Hermione heaved another heavy sigh.

"There was another...factor...that contributed to the break up," she said.

"Which was...?"

"Sirius."

Ginny blinked.

"Sirius?"

"Yes."

"Sirius Black?"

"Yes."

"_The_ Sirius Black?"

"Jesus, Ginny..."

"Well, I'm sorry, but you can't just throw out the fact that you slept with _Sirius_ out there and-"

"Whoa whoa whoa...I didn't _sleep_ with him," Hermione interrupted.

Ginny blinked again, then leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Did...did _Remus_ sle-"

"No!" Hermione shrieked before sighing once again and leaning her head back against the chair. "Look, apparently there's a _lot_ of history between them and not all of it was good and I ended up...stepping into the shoes of one of those not-so-good pieces of history."

Ginny stared at her for a moment before shaking her head.

"Okay, so who slept with Sirius?"

"Nobody. Slept. With. Sirius," Hermione growled. "I just...we kissed. Twice. And there _may_ have been some above-the-waist touching. But that's _it_."

"And Remus knows?"

"I don't know."

"But he suspects?"

"I think so."

"And...why did you kiss Sirius?"

"I don't know!" Hermione moaned, looking beseechingly at her friend. "It's like...when I'm with him I'm an entirely different person. I'm brazen and sensual and wanton and I just...I just _want_ him. But that's not me...right?"

Ginny shrugged.

"I dunno. Take out the sexualized language and you pretty much have the Hermione I know. You want what you want and you plan and study and work and essentially stop at nothing to have it. Until recently, I always thought you used your superpowers for good, though," she joked.

When she noticed Hermione wasn't laughing, Ginny sighed.

"Listen, 'Mione, if you're having an identity crisis then no amount of sex or friendly counsel or alcohol is going to help. What you need is some introspection and sagely advice."

"I don't introspect. Is that even a word? And where on earth would I get sagely advice because Lord knows I am _not_ going to my mother with this particular problem!"

Ginny arched an eyebrow.

"I know this may sound like a joke, but have you considered psychiatric help?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"An identity problem would be the least of my issues if I walked into a Muggle psychologist's office and blurted out my life story."

"You _do_ realize that we in the wizarding world occasionally seek psychiatric help and some even pursue it as a career choice," Ginny said dryly. She sometimes found herself unable to fathom how someone as smart as her friend could be so idiotic sometimes.

"You honestly think I should go to a therapist?" Hermione asked.

"I honestly think there is no harm in going and seeing if it takes."

"Would I be right to assume that you already have someone in mind?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Ginny said with a smile, standing and walking to her purse, pulling out a small appointment book. "She works at St. Mungo's. Comes highly recommended. Apparently she worked with Parvati after Lavender was killed."

"I don't want to run into anyone I know," Hermione said warily.

"Don't worry. Parvati's in Paris now, remember? They have an occasional session by floo but that's it."

Hermione took the neatly transposed piece of parchment from her friend and nearly choked on her own tongue when she saw the name.

"Amanda McKinnon?" she asked.

"Yes. Apparently she had a sister who was part of the original Order of the Phoenix. She died during the first war."

Hermione looked up from the parchment, confusion etched on her face.

"Her sister's name was Marlene. She was Remus's first fiancée & one of the only women Sirius ever loved." Hermione looked back down at the parchment. "She's the reason history is repeating itself."

Ginny arched an eyebrow.

"Well then," she said, refilling Hermione's glass. "I suppose now's the best time to talk to her, isn't it?"

Hermione stared at the parchment in her hands, taking a swig of her wine.

"Yes," she finally said, an idea forming. "Yes, I believe it is."

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_

_You guys are the best!_

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	9. Chapter 9

**_A/N: _**_Okay, it's been awhile, blah-blah-blah, follow me on Twitter if you want reasons._

****_Similarly, this is unbeta'd, so don't be an arse about grammar. If you knew what I meant, then that's all that matters._

* * *

**Chapter Nine – Session Five**

Hermione shifted nervously as she sat in the empty beige hallway of the psychiatric wing in St. Mungo's. The colour was off-putting. Some industrious interior decorator had most likely convinced the hospital board that the colour was warm; soothing, even. Hermione couldn't have disagreed more. In fact, every minute she sat there, she grew more and more uncomfortable. She decided to attribute the discomfort to the paint colour.

In hindsight, she wondered if the visit to Dr. McKinnon wasn't a little timely.

The appointment had very nearly not happened. Not by way of any wavering on Hermione's part, though it did take a bit of internal back and forth for her to drum up the courage to send the inquiring owl. The delay was, in part, due to the fact that Dr. Amanda McKinnon seemed perpetually unavailable for appointments. Owls returned with polite but brief notes of apology regarding the lack of openings and even formal requests from Madame Pomfrey, who had continued to treat Hermione, Ron and Harry out of respect for their privacy, were returned with apologetic referrals to other psychotherapists in the hospital.

After nearly two weeks of inquiries, however, Hermione had exhausted her patience with conventional methods. Dr. McKinnon was the best in the business; everyone Hermione had asked had confirmed this. And because Hermione was who she was, she didn't trust anyone but the absolute best. So, in light of this stalemate, she decided to move on to a more stealthy attack, drafting the two best minds she could think of to help her.

"All I can say is, about damn time, Granger," Fred had predictably responded, followed by that playful smile that was both kind and a little bit naughty at the same time. It said a lot about how much Hermione's life had changed that she was more willing to go to Fred and George Weasley for help over Harry and Ron.

"Yeah. We had given you up for batty ages ago," George had added, though his smirk matched his brothers.

"Well, as much as I'd hate to disappoint your glee in my eventual psychotic break, boys, it seems that the psychologist I'd like to engage is not particularly enthused with the idea of taking me on as a patient," Hermione replied.

"Then clearly there's something wrong with her," George declared.

"Especially if she can't see how incredibly necessary your need for psychological assistance is," said Fred.

Hermione knew the playful ribbing was not meant offensively, so she swallowed the bubble of indignation and said, "I was thinking that you two might be able to help me. Conventional means of acquiring an appointment have proven less than fruitful."

"You've come to the right place, Granger," Fred assured. "We just have a few questions."

"Does she have an assistant?" George asked.

"Is that assistant female?"

"If so, is she heterosexual?"

"And if so, is she single?"

"It would also help to know if she is attractive, or perhaps—"

"Desperate," Fred finished.

Hermione shot them a level look. "Though it may be hard for you to believe, when researching a psychologist, I wasn't overly interested in the character of their assistant," she said dryly. "I am, however, sure that there _is_ an assistant and judging from the handwriting, I am confident that assistant is either female or a rather effeminate male. I'm sure you can figure something out for either of those possibilities."

George looked at Fred. "It's been awhile since we've worked our charms on an unsuspecting person of the same sex."

"Not since Eamon begged us to drive away that clingy little American fellow he had picked up last time he was in London."

"And that was ages ago."

"Gentlemen," Hermione interrupted. "As you may have noticed, time is of the essence. So…would you mind terribly if I asked you to move past the inevitable banter and straight into the actual plan?"

It hadn't been particularly difficult in the end. The trio discovered that Dr. McKinnon's assistant, a lovely raven-haired girl named Hannah, had been a classmate of Ginny's who had always secretly fancied the twins. So while Dr. McKinnon was out of the office, Fred and George had slipped in to charm the unsuspecting young woman. They weaved a pitiful tale about their very shy, very disturbed second cousin Jean Prewitt who was in desperate need of Dr. McKinnon's much-lauded services.

It took them less than five minutes.

So now, Hermione was sitting in the beige hallway waiting for her ill-gained appointment. She had done enough glamour to make her a passable likeness for the Prewitt-Weasley family tree: red hair, freckles, blue eyes, a bit of a paunch around the middle. She hoped that it was good enough to get her into the office without causing too much suspicion. She fully intended to change back to normal appearance in order to confront the elusive therapist.

She had long since suspected that the brush-off had been personal.

The sound of heels clicking on the linoleum floor made Hermione turn. She was mildly surprised to see a beautiful thirty-something willowy blonde walking toward her, her clothes expensively professional with a hint of effortless sensuality. It was a look Hermione herself knew she could never pull off without an enormous amount of alcohol but the look seemed natural to the approaching woman.

"I am so sorry to keep you waiting," Dr. McKinnon said as she got closer, a kind, mildly-apologetic smile on her face. "Sometimes these meetings just go on and on." She unlocked the door to her office and motioned for Hermione to enter. "Shall we?"

Hermione stepped in without a word, finding herself in a room as dissimilar to the hallway as was possible. It was small but cosy, with walls the colour of pale blue skies and an overstuffed chair placed next to a comfortable-looking sofa. A large mahogany desk was pushed against the wall, but the neat stacks of folders and paperwork upon it hinted to the younger witch that Dr. McKinnon was not one to push paper unless absolutely necessary.

"So, Ms…Prewitt, is it?" Dr. McKinnon said, glancing at her notebook as she sat gracefully in the overstuffed chair, leaving the sofa for Hermione. "Your file doesn't say why you're here."

Hermione remained standing. "It wouldn't, because Jean Prewitt does not technically exist." She let the glamours fade before looking directly at the seated blonde, gauging her reaction.

If Dr. McKinnon was surprised, she didn't show it. Instead, she sighed and put her notebook and quill to the side before crossing one long leg over the other. "I must say, Ms. Granger, I am flattered by your persistence."

"It's a helpful characteristic to have," Hermione replied.

"Of that I'm certain. But as I mentioned both to you and Poppy, I don't have time to see new patients right now."

"And yet I managed to get this appointment easily enough."

"A fact which I will be speaking to my assistant about, I assure you."

Hermione bristled slightly, hating the idea that her subterfuge could put the naïve young assistant's job in jeopardy. "It's not her fault. She didn't know,"

"I'm sure she didn't, since she is under very strict orders as far as you are concerned."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "And why is that, may I ask? Have I in some way offended you?"

"Don't misunderstand me, Ms. Granger. It's really nothing personal."

"Funny that it doesn't seem like it."

She sighed. "Please sit down, Hermione."

"Oh, are we on a first name basis already?"

"You may call me Mandy if you wish."

Her tone was friendly, which confused Hermione even more as she sat. "I truly don't understand. Why are you refusing to work with me?"

"I've been afraid for some time that you may attempt to work with me. Unfortunately, I can't treat you due to a matter of ethics."

"Ethics?" Hermione frowned. "Does this…does this have to do with my writing? Because as a psychologist I thought you'd appreciate that there's a distinction between a writer and her content—"

"Oh no, it's nothing like that. I happen to be a great fan of your writing. This is more a…conflict of interests, I suppose. I simply know too much personal information about you."

Hermione gave a weary sigh. "Listen…Mandy…I respect your intelligence but just because I happen to be a person of mild repute really doesn't mean you _know_ me."

She arched an eyebrow. "I would expect someone of your own remarkable intelligence would think better than to assume that someone of _my_ intelligence would presume an intimate knowledge merely by reading gossip rags, Ms. Granger."

Hermione could see a hint of wounded pride that reminded her of her own character when confronted with incorrect assumptions. This, oddly, endeared the older woman to her slightly. "I apologize. May I ask how you came to know these personal details?"

"I happen to be incredibly close to someone in your inner circle. As such, I cannot treat you."

Hermione frowned. "Who are you close to?"

"I'm afraid I cannot divulge that."

"Are they a patient?"

"I'm afraid I cannot divulge that either."

"Don't you think I have a right to know who's talking about me? Especially if they are talking about my personal life without my knowledge?"

"I assure you that there is no malice intended…"

"I'm sure, but can you assure me that this information won't be repeated to someone who isn't protected by doctor-patient confidentiality? I'm sorry, Dr. McKinnon, but I am incredibly sensitive about my private life."

Dr. McKinnon looked at her for a moment before shaking her head with a small smile. "I knew you were smart, Ms. Granger, but I'm afraid I may have underestimated just how smart. I admit that I warned him about something like this happening—"

"So it's a man then," Hermione interrupted, immediately going through her mental list of close male friends. Though the list was numerous, she was unable to come up with anyone she could see herself having in common with the glamorous older woman. "To my knowledge, none of my close male friends are patients of yours."

"This one isn't…at least not officially. I should start charging him, though, considering how much therapy I've given him over the years."

"So you've known each other for a long time?"

"Longer than you have known him; I guarantee you that."

That narrowed the list down to a number of people Hermione knew outside of her Hogwarts schoolmates, but that only served to compound her confusion. Unless…

"Is it Sirius Black?" she asked.

"I think," Dr. McKinnon said, standing abruptly. "That you and I should go get a drink."

Hermione blinked. "Are…are you certain that's a good idea?"

"I've already told you that I can't work with you professionally, Hermione. But you do deserve an explanation and since you seem intent on getting one, I need to have at least one drink in my system before I clarify myself. So come on. I'm buying."

Curiosity piqued and unable to conjure a compelling reason why not to join the complex older woman for a drink, Hermione followed. After all, what could possibly be revealed by a harmless drink with a stranger?

* * *

The Dragon's Blood Club was one of those terribly posh places whose exterior looked exactly what one would expect from an upscale social club. It sat on St. James's Street, the site of exclusive Muggle clubs like White's and Brooke's. Dragon's, as it was called to be in step with the other clubs in the neighbourhood, had started as a place exclusively for purebloods. After the war, it evolved into simply being an exclusive social club catered for the very wealthy.

Hermione had been there a handful of times for events that required her presence, but she disliked the snobbish atmosphere. Though she and most of the members of the Order had been invited to join after the war – most likely as a gesture of good will rather than enthusiasm for their company – Hermione had declined. The fact that Sirius, like Dr. McKinnon, was also a member, however, only strengthened her suspicion that he had been the person who had talked.

The therapist seemed to sense Hermione's thinly-veiled disdain as the pair sat in the admittedly-comfortable leather chairs. "My membership is hereditary," she explained, taking a sip of the wine that had been brought to them by stoic, white-gloved house elves. "My normal haunts are the Leaky, or the pubs in Hogsmeade or Godric's Hollow. Going there, however, you're never sure who you may run into and I figured we'd need privacy for this conversation. One thing I will say is that they are delightfully paranoid about security here."

"I noticed," Hermione mumbled, eyes flicking to the intimidating-looking security guard in the far corner, dark eyes scanning the room.

"I've been told that they recruit from Durmstrang. Something about them being trained in hand-to-hand combat and duelling." Then she gave a light laugh. "Listen to me, sounding like a bloody brochure for the place. I suppose my point is that I dislike the exclusivity, but appreciate the privacy. In my industry, privacy is key."

"Of that I have no doubt. Is this where you meet with Sirius to talk about me?"

She sighed. "It's not Sirius, Hermione."

"Oh, are we back on a first name basis now?"

She leaned forward. "I would really like you to view me as a friend and not an enemy, Hermione. I did not solicit the information I know about you, and what I do know is incredibly complimentary."

Hermione sighed. "Alright. I apologize, Mandy. I'm just…edgy."

"Understandable. Really, it is." She took another sip of her wine, appraising Hermione slightly before saying, "I hope you don't mind me mentioning, but your photos hardly do you justice."

Hermione couldn't help but blush. "I…thank you."

"It's easy to understand why Remus is so taken by you."

Hermione started, almost spilling her own wine in surprise. She noticed Mandy gauging her reaction, noting the genuine shock. Of all the men in her life, Hermione never thought that Remus would be their mutual friend. The new-found knowledge made her suspicious, and she narrowed her eyes. "How, exactly, do you know Remus?"

"It's nothing untoward, Hermione, I assure you. Remus is, very literally, like a brother to me." Hermione's eyes narrowed even more and Mandy sighed. "I assume you know the history between Remus and my sister, Marlene? I won't insult your intelligence by thinking that you don't know I'm Marlene's sister. As I said, I know you well enough to know that you would do your research before contacting me."

Hermione couldn't argue, so she didn't. "I know that Remus and Marlene were engaged when she died."

Mandy nodded. "The short version is that Remus helped me out when I ran away from home after Marlene died. I was a teenager. He took care of me. Made sure I got a quality education, helped me when I was starting out on my own…everything a brother does for his sister. Therefore, understandably, he's been a pretty stable figure in my life for almost two decades. It's largely for that reason that I can't treat you."

"I still don't quite follow. How does your…relationship…to Remus have to do with me?"

Mandy gave her the look that question deserved. "You've been dating him for five years, Hermione. Our conversations for that time have centred almost predominantly around you."

Hermione shook her head. "I just…I don't understand why Remus never mentioned you. I mean, he and I were engaged. I'm just…I'm finding it hard to believe all this because he _never_ mentioned you."

"I know. I told him he should. I mean, it's all pretty suspicious, isn't it? But I think part of it is that he considers me his last…positive connection to Marlene. How do you explain to your fiancée that you still have ties to someone you loved over twenty years ago?"

"I would have _never_ begrudged him—"

"I'm not the one that needs convincing, Hermione. I've been telling him that he needed to introduce me to you, especially since you're getting married."

Hermione tensed. "I…er…I don't know if Remus will tell you this himself but…we've split up."

Mandy's eyes widened. "What? When?"

"Um…almost four months ago now?"

"Four mon—oh, I'm going to kill him," Mandy said darkly.

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because he and I have had dinner every Sunday for that amount of time and not _once_ has he said anything. And I've asked."

"I thought you said you didn't solicit the information you know about me," Hermione countered.

Mandy rolled her eyes. "Hermione, he's my brother. Of _course_ I'm going to ask him how his relationship is going. It's not like I asked him for specific personal information about you."

"Fair enough," Hermione said, taking another sip of wine. "You know, never in my life would I have thought Remus capable of such stealth."

"The man is a werewolf, Hermione. Discretion is pretty much second nature to him."

"I suppose. But it doesn't make me think any better of him for not telling me about you. Especially since trust issues were pretty much the reason why we split up in the first place."

"Yes, I suspected as much."

Hermione frowned. "Really?"

Mandy nodded. "Judging from my conversations with Remus four months ago, I'd hazard a guess that the main point of contention was your relationship with Sirius. Am I right?"

Hermione blinked. "How on earth did you…I mean, it wasn't the _main_ point of contention but it was a significant factor…" She leaned in. "Are you a practitioner of Divination on top of your psychological training? Is _that_ why you're so good?"

Mandy laughed. "No. Personally, I've always thought Divination was a load of waffle. But I remember a particularly depressing conversation we had four months back that had to do with you and Sirius."

"Was that the reason why he confronted me so aggressively?"

"Remus tends to do the exact opposite of what I advise him to do, so probably."

"Look, I'm not saying I'm an angel and I do have guilt about my conduct with Sirius but…he went after me about so many other thing."

"Let me guess. He probably gave you some bullshit about your writing. Knowing him, it was rude and ever-so-slightly misogynist but in a subtle enough way that you didn't really take it that way?"

Hermione frowned. "Okay, honestly, how do you know all this?"

Mandy sighed. "I just know how thick-headed Remus can be sometimes." She took a sip of wine. "No doubt you've discovered the history between Remus, Marlene and Sirius?"

Hermione tensed. "I know enough about it."

"Marlene was a very conflicted woman in a lot of ways. I think your relationship with Sirius brought up some old wounds. You see, Remus has spent the past few years thinking of you the way he thought of Marlene: quiet…unassuming…fairly unadventurous. I loved my sister, Hermione, but up until the war she was a rather submissive creature. Brave and worthy, to be sure, but in the end she just wanted a quiet life with a good man."

"Sounds like something most women want," Hermione said, the heavy feelings of guilt that had been weighing on her settling in the pit of her stomach.

"Not you," Mandy said softly. "I mean…I'm sure eventually. But not now and you are definitely nothing if not adventurous."

Hermione stared at her for a moment before chuckling. "You really weren't exaggerating when you said you knew me, were you?"

Mandy smiled slightly. "No."

Hermione slumped back in the chair. "Ever since we broke up, I've been having…I don't know. A crisis of self, I suppose. Remus and I were happy. We had this quiet, happy little life but recently I've just felt like something is missing. I like the idea of marrying him…I really do. But part of me…I suppose part of me wants to be one of the heroines I write about in my books."

"Is that why you decided to use Sirius Black as a template for your next hero?"

Hermione looked down. "I suppose Remus told you that."

"You know the history, Hermione. Do you blame Remus for being suspicious?"

"No." She ran her hand over her face. "God, Mandy, this whole situation…it's just gotten out of hand. When Remus and I were together I worried that my writing was getting stale. I wanted to write about a different hero, so I started spending time with Sirius and that led to the break up. But now that we're apart I haven't been able to write anything at all. Not about Remus, or Sirius. I love Remus so much and I have for years but suddenly it's just…"

"Not enough?" Mandy asked quietly.

Hermione let out a deep puff of air. "Yes."

"Have you tried telling this to Remus?"

She hesitated. "I tried, but I think I made a mess of it. It all comes down to Sirius, really. I suppose I was deluding myself in thinking that it didn't. The man is magnetic. I mean, he's damaged and definitely not my definition of Prince Charming but he's just…he exudes a charm. And Merlin help me, I'm drawn to it. But then there's Remus and I just…there's a deeper spark and chemistry that _could_ be equally intoxicating but he holds back so much because of his lycanthropy. I can't let it go. Sirius doesn't pretend. He just…is."

Mandy nodded. "Sirius does have a certain…je ne sais quoi. He has a way of knowing exactly what a woman needs at any given moment and provides it. A handy trick to have, really." Hermione must have let her curiosity show on her face because Mandy blushed and looked away. "I…er…I've experienced Sirius. It was a one-time thing but…uh…_memorable_." She glanced up at Hermione. "Please don't tell Remus. There was…rather an embarrassing amount of alcohol involved."

Hermione bit her lip, unable to help herself as she asked, "How was he?"

Mandy smiled slightly, sipping her wine. "You should experience it for yourself, if you're curious."

"Trust me, I wish I could," she mumbled sullenly.

"Why can't you?"

Hermione sighed. "I promised Remus I wouldn't sleep with Sirius."

"Why?"

"Because he asked me not to."

"So?"

Hermione blinked, unsure if she was explaining herself clearly. "So…I promised."

Mandy frowned. "Hermione…you and Remus split up _completely_, right?"

"I…I don't know. I mean…I think there's still…hope…on both of our ends but…we're at an impasse right now. He doesn't like what I do and I don't have any interest in stopping…though the way my newest book is going, I may not have a choice." She laughed slightly. "If you can help me get through the writer's block, you'd be a bloody miracle worker."

Mandy watched her for a moment before speaking again. "How's your sex life?"

Hermione was so startled by the sudden shift in conversation that she almost snapped 'None of your business,' but considering the sensitivity of the recent topics of discussion, she figured they had flown into confidante territory ages ago so she replied, "Non-existent at the moment. Why?"

Mandy shrugged. "You're an erotic fiction writer. One would assume that inspiration comes from at least a kernel of real life experience. If there are no experiences to speak of, then the inspiration is probably hard to come by."

"I thought of that. But I really don't think I need to have sex in order to write it. I mean…I can draw on experiences I've had."

"But you've had those experiences with Remus. Your book isn't about Remus. Did you ever consider that your lacklustre review may have also been foreshadowing your own fatigue with the same type of lover?"

"Ah. You read that review too, did you?"

"Hear me out for a moment," Mandy said. "Your books are very good. But your heroes tend to be the same type of man. Complex in a…mildly-superficial way, but generally good men. Like Remus…but without the baggage. Sort of…the Remus that Remus _wishes_ to be. Now, that's all very well and good, but your heroines have been developing into women who wouldn't really tolerate a man like that. Similar, I think, to your own growth. I think your muse just drove you to Sirius a little before your heart – or rather, your libido – could. But the potential has always been there."

Hermione took a moment to digest this. She had always had a sneaking suspicion that she was putting more of herself into her novels than she was willing to admit. But she had always been able to justify herself because her own behaviour was not nearly as naughty as that of her heroines. She had spent so long dividing herself from her work that she had been too entrenched in self-delusion to see what a relative stranger had worked out quite easily.

She had been feeling like a character in one of her books because she _was_ a character in her books. She had been so focussed on running from it that she hadn't realized she had run straight into it.

"You think my problems will go away if I sleep with Sirius?" she finally asked.

Mandy laughed. "It's never that simple, Hermione. But I think you need to take a long look in the mirror and decide who you are. Are you simply the writer of these fantastic tales, content to be an observer to the erotic adventures of your heroine? Or will you embrace your burgeoning sexuality and experiment? Make the decision, then talk to Remus. Get closure or reconcile. The limbo is what's driving your crazy. No irony intended, considering your company."

Hermione sat back and looked around. It was fully dark out and the club was starting to fill with the old guard of the wizarding world. They sipped their firewhisky and played cards or chess, conversing over relevant topics in low, hushed voices. Mandy remained quiet, content to watch her. Hermione knew that life shouldn't have been so easy. One conversation over drinks – or rather, an unintentionally-intended therapy session – should not have been able to inspire such a character change.

And yet…and yet…

* * *

_Thank you for reading._

_More to come...stay tuned._


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